


I Am Now A We

by TheGrandR



Category: Sense8 (TV), The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon Queer Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Catholic Guilt, Child Abuse, Depression, Domestic Violence, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Has Issues, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Not immortal, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Depression, Romance, i will add tags as i go and always warn for them in the notes, it's only spoken about and happens off screen, literally everyone is gay or bi, sorry people i dont make the rules, wtf did i just invent a ship?, yusuf al-Kaysani is an actual ray of sunshine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26032990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrandR/pseuds/TheGrandR
Summary: With one last gasp of breath, Will felt the pressure give and he was suddenly thrust into seven different places at once. There they were. A brand-new cluster, the first he’d ever brought into this world, and as he collapsed onto Riley, the only thought running through his mind was,“They’re beautiful.”Or, seven different people from all over the world find out they are mentally connected to each other. Some handle it better than others,  and that's before they find out they're being hunted.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Lykon, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 135
Kudos: 237





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> SO. This is the first thing I've written in almost a decade and I'm terrified! That being said, after watching The Old Guard I couldn't get these characters out of my head, so I decided to write probably the most ambitious thing I've ever written. No pressure. 
> 
> Also, I will be writing about a lot of different cultures and some very sensitive issues. My main goal is to be as respectful as possible but if there's anything I've gotten wrong, please feel free to let me know and I'll fix it! I have done research but I'm only one person and nothing I researched on the internet will ever be as informative as actually living in these places, or having these experiences. Any input is welcomed!
> 
> I think I've over-tagged, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Also, I don't know everything that will happen because these guys all have minds of their own and didn't like my original ideas for their stories, so I will probably continue to add tags as I go, but I will ALWAYS mention them in the notes. If anyone wants more details, please feel free to ask.
> 
> I don't think you need to have seen Sense8 to read this (though if you haven't, omg what are waiting for its amazing?) but if anything is unclear, please feel free to ask me about it! If you haven't seen it, the only things you really need to know are 1-sensates are homo sensorium, not homo sapiens and are mentally connected to the other people in their 'cluster' 2- Yes, there are always 8 people in a cluster, but there are only 7 immortals so please just go with it? 3- the characters in the beginning are from Sense8 and will only be in a few scenes.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Riles.” The pain, which before had been generally centered in his chest, was now reaching a fever pitch; sending shocking tendrils through what felt like every nerve ending in his body. Gasping for breath, he reached blindly behind him, knowing the comfort he searched for would be freely given by all of the seven other people crowded around him. His hand was taken and held firmly in a familiar, calloused grip and Will squeezed, feeling the strength and support emanating from his cluster, even though most of them were not physically present.

“You can.” The surety in Wolfgang’s voice and thoughts calmed Will’s frantic heartbeat and he squeezed the German’s hand again in thanks. Riley, beautiful Riley who had been getting a damp washcloth to wipe the sweat from his face, returned to the room and knelt in front of him on the bed. 

“You are the strongest person I have ever met, and the best man I know.” The cool washcloth felt like heaven against his overheated skin and he sighed against the feel of it, and of her small delicate hands as they caressed his face. “This cluster has no idea how lucky they are to be birthed by you. You’re going to be an amazing father, Will.” He could feel the conviction behind her words and he once again thanked his lucky stars that out of everyone else in the world, this woman had chosen him to be the one she let into her heart.  
Just as his breath had finally begun to calm, a new wave of pain overtook him and he threw his head back with a groan, barely feeling the many set of arms and hands running over his back and arms, trying to soothe away the pain they all felt through him. Riley, the only one of the cluster actually there and not just Visiting, grabbed his other hand and held it in both of hers. _This is it,_ he thought, and knew he’d been heard as he felt everyone collectively brace themselves, and him. The birthing pains, once radiating from what felt like every cell in his body, were now centered in his head, as a sudden pressure overtook everything else he was feeling and thinking. It felt like his skull was going to cave in on itself if he didn’t push against it, so Will gritted his teeth and with every ounce of strength left he focused on that part of himself which connected him to other sensates and he _pushed_. 

Faintly, he heard his cluster speaking words of love and encouragement, but all his energy was focused on pushing at the excruciating pressure consuming his brain, his breath, and his body. Taking in deep gulps of air, he pushed and pushed and slowly felt something start to give and pushed even more. Almost… almost… and there!  
With one last gasp of breath, Will felt the pressure give and he was suddenly thrust into seven different places at once. There they were. A brand-new cluster, the first he’d ever brought into this world, and as he collapsed onto Riley, the only thought running through his mind was,

“They’re beautiful.”

**Andy- Kyiv, Ukraine**

The sun was just starting to rise in Kyiv and Andy had begun her day with a steaming cup of coffee liberally doused with whiskey. Looking over her caseload for the day, she couldn’t help but feel like she was beating her hands against a concrete wall, like she was fighting and screaming and killing herself over and over and nothing was getting better and nothing ever would. People were still losing their homes, jobs, even lives just because of who they loved or how they identified and no matter how many cases she took, there were always a hundred more sad stories and she was just so _tired_ of it.

Adding another generous pour of whiskey to her coffee, a sudden movement across the room caught her eye. On her feet in an instant, she gripped the bottle of whiskey by the neck and held it up, ready to make sure this intruder had the worst B ‘n E experience of their life when she met the stranger’s eyes and stopped in her tracks. He was older than she, though not by much, and his entire being seemed to glow with happiness and pride and… love. This complete stranger was smiling at her like he loved her, and she could feel it, actually feel it. He felt familiar somehow, as though he had always been right outside her view her entire life and was only now coming into focus.

“Who the fuck are you?” She breathed, the words coming out as less of the demand she had intended and more like a desperate plea to understand why she felt so connected to this person already. His only response was a tear stained laugh.

**Noriko- Tokyo, Japan**

Having finally finished her morning workout, Noriko headed to the showers to wash off the blood and sweat from her skin, already dreading her upcoming lunch with her parents. Every week it was the same stilted conversations that she could recite like a well-worn script, the same stifling expectations put on her shoulders. As she stepped under the lukewarm water, she took a deep breath and let her thoughts and anxieties roll off her body and into the drain. She let her mind go blank and transport her to a place deep inside herself that was silent and safe. For these stolen moments there were no expectations, no eyes watching and judging every twitch of a muscle she made. Here, there was no one watching and waiting in the wings for her to make a career ending mistake, there was no one waiting for their chance to unseat her as prima ballerina in the most prestigious company in Tokyo. 

Stepping out of the shower she dressed in a flowing skirt and top- not an outfit she would have chosen for herself, but one appropriate for the restaurant and her parents’ tastes. As they always did before these weekly lunch obligations, her thoughts turned to her family. To how much she loved them and wanted to honor them and make them proud and yet, how trapped she felt by those same wishes. She knew the life they wanted for her and she knew it was not a life she wanted for herself. As it was, she counted herself lucky that so far, all conversations about marriage and her future after ballet had been easily deflected, though she knew that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

Looking over herself once more in the mirror, Noriko locked eyes with the reflection of a man standing behind her. He was crying but they were tears of joy, and as she continued to stare at him, she just _knew_ that he was proud of her, as a parent is proud of their child, unconditionally and bursting with love. The sort of pride she’d never felt from her own parents. She turned to face him and as she did, a tear rolled down her cheek and she smiled softly back at him. 

**Nicky- Rome, Italy**

The hour or so just before dawn was always Nicky’s favorite. The world was dark, and quiet, and still; peaceful in a way that it never was at any other time. He’d always felt there was something almost magical in the air, and it was the time of day he felt most calm. It was the time of day he felt closest to God, though generally he couldn’t say whether or not that was a good thing. 

Sitting on the banks of the Tiber, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the smell and sound of the river calm his mind and body. He’d taken more of a beating than usual and needed the river’s calming influence before attempting the long walk home with what he suspected was a cracked rib. Not the worst injury he’d sustained, but certainly not something he would enjoy over the coming weeks. 

It was a clear night, stars shining brightly in the sky, and Nicky’s eyes were drawn upward to admire the immensity of the heavens. When he titled his head at a certain angle, all the little lights that surrounded him on earth fell from view and he was able to imagine his body falling away, his soul floating upwards and just… fading away in the inky blue of the night sky. No Heaven. No Hell. Just peaceful nothing. But of course, that was never going to happen. And he knew that if anyone deserved eternal peace, it wasn’t him; he had a lot to answer for and he was nowhere near serving his penance yet.

Getting to his feet with a groan, he spotted a man standing several feet from him and was immediately on guard. The Tiber wasn’t exactly the best place to spend time alone at night, but he’d never had any problems before. Bracing his body for the inevitable scuffle, Nicky stood up straight, letting the stabbing pang of his ribs fade to the back of his mind as he stared at the intruder and waited. It didn’t take long to realize the man was smiling at him, the look in his eyes more suited to someone seeing a long-lost family member than a total stranger. The longer he stared at the man, the more he realized that the ever present hole deep inside of him was being filled with love and light and it all came from this man, this man who looked upon him with more kindness and understanding than he’d ever been on the receiving end of and in the wake of this miracle he fell to his knees and wept.

**Joe- Cairo, Egypt**

For the first disorienting seconds of suddenly finding himself awake, all Joe could do was squint blearily at his ceiling. Turning towards the clock on his nightstand, he stared at the glowing numbers, knowing they meant something but unable to force his brain to remember what. Giving up on the mystery he rolled over, more than happy to go back to sleep and figure things out later when the pounding that had first woken him sounded again. 

Viciously rubbing his eyes, he got out of bed and headed towards his front door, dread opening up a pit in his stomach. There was no possible good reason for someone to be knocking on his door in the middle of the night. Giving his room a quick once over for anything incriminating, he pulled a pair of sweats over his boxers, hoping the police weren’t the ones knocking but wanting to be sure he wouldn’t be dragged out of his home in his underwear if they were. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and was greeted by the familiar face of one of his students. “Nagib? What the hell are you doing in my house?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I had nowhere else to go!” The kid was staring at the floor, arms wrapped around his chest in an unconscious effort to soothe and protect himself. Joe could see he was barely holding it together, whole body shaking even as he tried to hold himself still. “My parents, they saw me and… there was a boy- but we didn’t do anything! My father was going to call the authorities, so I ran and Rashida told me to come here and… I’m sorry.” 

_Damn it, Rashida._ Joe knew she had only wanted to help this boy, but he wished she hadn’t given his name so freely. It was dangerous to be affiliated with any LGBTQ groups in Cairo, and the fact that now one of his own students knew what he was and where he lived did not sit well with him. Ushering the boy inside before anyone could see, he took a quick look around the hallway outside his door to make sure no one was around before locking his door. Nagib stood in the middle of his living room, staring at the floor looking generally pathetic and Joe sighed. He could be angry at Rashida all he wanted but this kid was in crisis and needed his help. If he wasn’t willing to take risks to help people in need, then what was anything he was doing even for? “Would you like some coffee? Tea?” The boy shook his head, still staring at the floor and hugging himself. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna make some coffee and while I’m doing that,” Joe put a hand lightly on the kid’s shoulder and steered him towards the bathroom. “You should take a shower because, I’m sorry to say, you really need one.” Nagib smiled weakly and Joe patted his shoulder. “I’ll bring you some clothes and we’ll figure out what to do when you come out. Sound good?”

Nagib nodded and looked up at him. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Not necessary. Anything I can do to help you, I will. You’re safe here.” The boy nodded and went into the bathroom. Joe shuffled to his kitchen and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Having this kid in his home was dangerous, but turning him away condemned him to torture, rape, even death. Everyone knew what happened to people like them in prison, and there was no way Joe was letting that happen to one of his students if he could do anything about it. 

As he opened his cupboard to start getting coffee ready, he noticed a figure standing at the kitchen table. Instinctively, he threw the bag of coffee beans at the man, already reaching for the butcher knife he kept in a block on the counter. As his hand closed around the handle, he realized that though he had been startled, he felt no threat from this man. In fact, through his confusion and anxiety, he also felt…protected. As if this man would do anything in the world to keep him safe. Leaving the knife on the counter Joe slowly walked towards the man and tentatively reached out a hand. Grinning, the man slowly took his hand and interlocked their fingers, bringing their hands to his chest. Joe could feel the man’s heart beating and he gasped for breath because somehow he knew the man was physically not really there, and yet. He could touch him, and feel him, and he knew that this man loved and cherished him. He felt connected to this man, and to the lives of others, in a way he’d never felt before and in that moment, the world had never been more beautiful.

**Nile- Chicago, USA**

It was nearing midnight and Nile had been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, too tired to get out of bed but too scared to sleep. She knew what she would see when she closed her eyes, and she didn’t want to even think about any of that, not now that she was finally home. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe everything would be okay once she left the desert and the war, but a part of her had hoped being back in the house she grew up in, her family sleeping peacefully in their rooms, would be enough of a calming influence to at least allow her to sleep her first night back. She should have known better. Nightmares don’t care where you are, they’ll find you. They’ll grab you in their claws and rip you apart even when you know you’re safe.

Fed up and annoyed at herself, she dragged herself out of bed and shoved her feet in her favorite pair of fuzzy slippers, making her way downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. Turning the light on, her eyes were immediately assaulted by the garish colors on the “Welcome Home Nile” banner her mom had hung in the middle of the room. The kitchen still looked like a small hurricane had hit, her mom for once leaving the mess for the morning, too happy that her little girl was back home for good to worry about cleaning up. For a moment, Nile thought about doing all the cleanup just so she could put off sleeping for a little longer, but decided against it. Her body was exhausted from the flight and if she bent down now to pick up everything off the floor, she would not be getting back up.

Filling a glass of water from the tap, she sat at the table and put her head in her hands. She knew she was going to have to talk to someone about what had happened back there; she wasn’t stupid enough to believe she could just put everything behind her and move on. She already knew how hard it was to transition back to civilian life, but this was the first time she would be doing it with the knowledge that she was not going back. She knew her decision not to reenlist was the right one, but there was no denying that a part of her was terrified about what came next. What now? Get a desk job, get married, have kids? She didn’t know that life and she didn’t want it but… what did she want? For so long her life had been about following orders that now that no one was telling her what to do she felt lost. The future was opening up before her and it was huge and terrifying and she had no idea how she was going to fill it.

Hands shaking, she took a deep gulp of water. For now, she was going to enjoy spending time with her family. They were so happy she was back and she didn’t want to ruin that by telling them what was going on in her head. There would be time for that soon enough. Finishing her water, she rinsed out the glass and put it on the drying rack before turning around to go back to her room, only to come face to face with an unfamiliar man standing not two feet from her. She immediately put her fists up, mind sharp and ready to deal with the threat, when she noticed his body language was completely relaxed and non-threatening. He was smiling at her with such affection shining from his eyes that she couldn’t help lowering her hands, somehow knowing he was not there to harm her. “Who…? How…?” She choked out, unable to understand how she knew this complete stranger was somehow connected to her, how she knew deep down in her soul that he knew her and loved her. She grabbed the small gold cross around her neck and rubbed its’ familiar angles as she stared at the miraculous man in her kitchen and just breathed.

**Lykon- Queens, USA**

The clinic waiting room was bustling with the usual crowds that tended to come in on Friday nights. For the most part, weekends tended to be full of intoxicated revelers who’d partied a bit too hard and gotten into a fight or fell down the stairs or, on one memorable occasion, impaled their leg on a metal fence while trying to skip out on their bar tab. Lykon generally didn’t mind these patients; their stories were usually pretty entertaining and their injuries tended to be pretty simple to patch up. It was the patients he saw during the week that were the tough cases. The addicts, coming in for their methadone. The homeless mothers bringing in their sick children. He did what he could, but he knew his help meant very little to them in the long run. 

He became a doctor to help people, got a job at a low-cost clinic that barely paid his rent because he wanted to help people, but it never seemed like it was enough. There were always more desperate people in need and not enough resources to help them all. It was a hard truth, one that could easily bury Lykon under suffocating layers of cynicism and world weariness if he let it. When that threatened to happen, he reminded himself of all the good he’d done for his patients. Maybe he couldn’t single-handedly solve all their problems, but he would do his very best to solve the ones he could. It mattered. It had to matter.

Taking a peek at the waiting room between patients, Lykon noticed a young girl sitting in the corner. Children weren’t a rarity at his clinic, especially not ones accompanied by a parent, as she seemed to be. No, what was odd was how quiet and still she was, arms tucked in close to her body and legs crossed at the ankle. She stared down at the floor and, while her father’s arm was around her shoulder in what seemed to be a gesture of comfort, she didn’t lean into the touch. In fact, she seemed to be leaving as much space between them as she could without being obvious about it. He’d seen a lot of children sitting in that waiting room and not one of them had ever been as quiet and withdrawn as she seemed to be. It was possible that this was just how she processed pain from whatever injury she’d sustained, but his gut was screaming that something here was wrong. 

Following his instincts, he approached the check-in desk and looked over the patient list. “I’ll take the little girl next.” James, the clinics newest receptionist, frowned up at him.

“But you have five other patients ahead of her,” he protested. “She’s only been here a few minutes, you have patients that have been here for hours already.”

Lykon crossed his arms and stared him down. “I don’t care if I have twenty patients ahead of her. I want to see that girl.” Throwing his hands up in defeat, James made the adjustment on the computer.

“Okay, she’s next whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks James.” Walking back to his room, he disinfected the exam table and pulled a new sheet of paper over it. As he turned to throw the paper out, he was startled to see a man standing next to him. Confused, he took a step back and held his hands out in front of him. There had been incidents before of people coming in to try and steal needles or medication, but Lykon instantly felt that this wasn’t the case. There was something about the man, his genuine smile and kind eyes, that said he wasn’t a threat. That he was someone to be trusted. Unconsciously, Lykon felt himself returning the smile, feeling connected to the strange man in a way he couldn’t explain.

**Booker- Paris, France**

The tiny garret apartment wasn’t exactly up to Booker’s usual standards but, as he kept reminding himself, this was the only way to get his life back. Like everything else he’d been through in the past three years, he just had to suck it up and deal. Taking a swig from the bottle of cheap gin he’d picked up on the way back from the bar, he collapsed onto his threadbare couch and closed his eyes, hoping he’d drunk enough to fall asleep quickly. As he lay there, waiting for unconsciousness to overtake him, he couldn’t help remembering what his beloved Marie had said to him the last time they’d spoken. All he’d wanted was to see his family after being locked up for the longest three years of his life, but she hadn’t even opened the door. And yes, he knew she’d divorced him, he’d signed the damned papers, but… full custody? No visitation rights? 

Too agitated to sleep, Booker hauled himself up until he was slouching upright on the couch, springs digging into his thigh. It just wasn’t fair. She knew he loved her, loved his children. He would do anything for them, and she knew that. He’d just been trying to give them all a better life, one where they didn’t have to struggle, or worry about paying rent and bills in the same month, a life better than the one he’d had growing up. He wasn’t violent, hadn’t hurt anyone. All he’d done was make fake IDs and a few passports and she was acting like he was some kind of monster.

Slumping over on his side, he slipped his worn and faded wallet from his back pocket and pulled out the only photo he had left of his family- himself, standing with his arms around his beautiful Marie and their boys Jean-Pierre and Michel, all grinning at the camera. Happier times. Placing the picture back in his wallet with utmost care, Booker took another gulp of liquor, resolved to spend the rest of the night feeling sorry for himself, when a man appeared out of thin air right before his eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” he slurred, squinting up at the man. He smiled tearfully and took a seat on the couch next to Booker, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“My name’s Will. And I’m here to tell you that you’re not alone. And you never will be again.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you all so much for all the kudos and wonderful comments! I appreciate every single one, and I hope this chapter lives up to expectations! I wasn't planning on ending it where I did, but these guys are doing what they want, regardless of my plans for them.
> 
> Also, I finally read Book One of the comics and it has given me a lot of inspiration, so in future chapters I will be using stuff from the comics as well as the movie, just fyi. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Andy- Kyiv, Ukraine**

“So, let me get this straight,” Andy crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, staring down the man in her apartment who, apparently, wasn’t actually there. “I’m not technically human, my brain is connected to seven other people not including you, and I can quote-unquote _Visit_ them wherever they are in the world without physically going anywhere?” 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Will shrugged from his spot on her couch, still smiling like he was thrilled to even be in the same room as her. It unnerved her almost as much as it softened something inside her. It had been a long time since anyone looked at her like that, and she didn’t quite know what to do with it. 

“No,” she replied decisively. Was she really supposed to believe that this man, who had just randomly appeared in her kitchen yesterday, spent five minutes crying and smiling at her before vanishing only to reappear the next day, was telling the truth? That he wasn’t just a hallucination from too much work and too little sleep? No. She was finally cracking under the pressure of being lead council on her very first class action lawsuit, that’s what was happening. And the strange connection she felt to this Will person was nothing more than her brain trying to tell her that she needed to stop the one night stands and actually try making a friend or something. Clearly having no human contact outside of work or sex was finally catching up with her and making this nervous breakdown even worse. She’d never done anything by halves and apparently going crazy was no exception.

Pushing herself off the wall, Andy decided the best way to handle this was to ignore it and just go on with her life. Making her way to the bathroom to start getting ready for work, she stopped in her tracks. Will was now standing in front of her sink, hands held out placatingly. “Believe me, I get what you’re feeling right now, but you are not crazy.”

“No? Well I’m not on board with the supernatural either, so where exactly does that leave us?” Slamming the bathroom door shut, she stomped into her bedroom and chose to ignore the fact that Will was now sitting on the edge of her bed. _This fucking guy._ Opening her closet, she blindly pawed through her clothes, all too aware of the possibly-not-a-hallucination in the room. 

“I know how all this sounds. And I know it’s… a little scary. But this is who you are. And you can pretend that I’m a hallucination all you want, but we both know it’s not true.” His voice was so kind and understanding and for just a moment, she closed her eyes and let herself panic. _Fuuuuuck._

Moment over, she balled her hands into fists and turned around to face him. She’d never been the sort of woman to back down from the hard truths and she wasn’t about to start that shit now. Whatever was going on, she was going to face it, deal with it, and move on, because that was what she did. She bulldozed her way through life with nothing but her determination and balls of steel. No way was she letting this break her.

“Okay. Prove it.” Standing in front of Will, heart beating hard enough to crack through her chest, she held her head high and met his gaze steadily. 

Getting to his feet, Will smiled proudly at her. He’d always though his cluster-mate Sun was the most formidable woman he’d ever met, but Andy was quickly proving to be just as daunting. “Okay. Why don’t you try Visiting one of your cluster? Pretty hard to hallucinate being in a different country, right?”

Taking a deep breath, Andy nodded. Right. Visiting her cluster. What the fuck was her life right now? “Sounds good. So how do I do this? Focus on going somewhere and… it just happens?”

“Not exactly. It’s not something you make happen, it’s something you let happen. Just relax. Let down your guard and your brain will do the rest. Let it take you where you need to go.” Will rubbed her arms soothingly for a moment, then backed away to give her some space. Okay. Right. Just let it happen. Trying to relax, she shook out her hands and wrists and cracked her neck. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let her mind just… drift. She let all her thoughts and worries slowly fade away until something finally gave and lost herself in the simple act of existence. 

Abruptly, she was pulled out of her attempt at ‘letting go’ by the sudden honk of a car horn right next to her. Jumping at the sound, she opened her eyes only to be blinded by the sunlight glaring through the windshield of the car she was now sitting in.

“The fuck!” 

The car swerved sharply and righted itself as Andy braced herself against the dash. Multiple horns honked angrily around her and the driver of the car she was in slammed down on his own horn in retaliation. “Hey, fuck you, man! Did you learn how to drive this morning? Stay in your lane!”

So far, Andy had not looked at the driver sitting beside her, too overtaken by the view in front of her. A long road stretched out in front of her, cars crowded together as far as she could see. Just outside her window was a bus so full that people were actually hanging out of windows and holding tightly to the back and sides. The sky was enormous above her, a bright hazy blue only interrupted by the occasional bird flying past. She could smell the gas of all the cars around her, but underneath that was the fresh scent of a nearby body of water.

“So, who are you?” 

Oh, right. There was someone else in the car; someone else who was, presumably, connected to her brain and privy to her innermost thoughts and feelings. Great. She turned to her left to see just who it was she’d Visited, and the first thing she noticed was a wide smile and open, earnest eyes. Groaning, she closed her eyes and put her head in her hands. 

“Oh God, you’re actually enjoying this shitshow, aren’t you?”

He barked out a laugh and patted her on the shoulder. “I don’t know if I would call it a shitshow, but yeah. I mean, I have an intimate connection with six other people around the world! We can share thoughts and emotions, even Visit each other? Do you realize the implications this has to what we, as humans, have defined as our sense of self? The implications this has to our entire view of history as _homo sapiens_ being the only people walking the earth? I mean, can you imagine the contributions people like us have made to art, literature, poetry, the sciences! It’s mind-blowing!” He punctuated the sentence by miming the action of his brain exploding, almost smacking her in the face with his wayward arms. “Shit, sorry.” They rolled forward the next few feet in silence and she could feel him stealing glances at her as she stared ahead. “I’m Joe, by the way.”

“Andy.”

“Andy. Well, Andy, where are you from?”

She didn’t answer at first, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Will had been right. She was here, in another country speaking to another person who most likely did not speak Ukrainian, and yet she was able to understand him and be understood. If any part of her had still been holding onto believing this was all in her head, it had been obliterated by the proof all around her. “I live in Kyiv. Ukraine. How are you able to understand me?”

Joe seemed to consider for a moment. “Well, I guess if we can share each other’s thoughts then I know Ukrainian because you do. And vice versa, you know Arabic because I do.”

Well. That was not at all what she wanted to hear. The thought of anyone being able to access her mind that like was terrifying. Her thoughts were hers and it made her skin crawl to imagine someone reading her as easily as a book. As if sensing her distress, which he probably had, _god damn it all_ , Joe reached for her hand. “I don’t think that this connection we have means that we will be giving up what makes us separate people. We’re still humans, just… a little more.”

Nope. She was done being analyzed by someone she’d met two seconds ago. Ripping her hand out of his, Andy leaned in close, making sure their eyes met and that he knew she was serious. “Stay the fuck out of my head,” she sneered and forced herself back into her body.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I figured- if sensates can kiss and fuck and hold each other when they Visit... why can't they fight?
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has commented and kudoed! If I haven't responded yet, I will, and I appreciate each and every one of you!

**Joe- Cairo, Egypt**

Joe had been distracted all day. Mostly because there had been an angry Ukrainian woman in his car that morning, but also because he was meeting Rashida after his last class and he had a bit of a bone to pick. He couldn’t count how many times that day he had lost track of where his lecture was going because _there’d been an angry Ukrainian woman in his car!_ The very thought of it blew his mind and for the first time since he’d started teaching, he didn’t want to be in class. All he wanted to do was lose himself in research- did any humans know about _homo sensorium_? Just how many of them were there? Were there any known sensate artists? Was there a limit to how many sensates one was able to connect with? Were there any clusters of children or were they all birthed as adults? Were there any sensates born without clusters? Will had explained so much after he’d first appeared, but Joe still had so many questions! 

Walking to the café just off campus where he was meeting his friend, he couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of his cluster would be like. Where were they from? What sort of lives were they living? Would at least one of them be as happy about this new aspect of their existence as he was? Opening the door to the café, he saw Rashida sitting at a table in the back corner and couldn’t help but smile happily at her, despite the fact he was still a bit annoyed. “Good evening, Rashida. How is it that you grow more and more beautiful every time I see you?”

Rolling her eyes at his usual antics, she couldn’t help but smile back. He was just too charming for his own good. “Hello, Joe. I see you lost a fight with your lunch again,” she remarked, pointing at the faded sauce stain on his shirt.

“That was one time,” he laughed.

“And now it’s twice.” Rashida chuckled and took a sip of tea from the steaming cup in front of her. “So, as much as I thoroughly enjoy any chance to make fun of you, what did you want to see me about?”

Taking a deep breath, Joe clasped his hands together on the table in front of him. “Nagib.” Rashida nodded, knowing this was what he’d wanted to talk about. “Why did you send him to me, out of everyone you know? He’s my student, you know the kind of position this puts me in.”

“I do know, and I’m sorry.” She grabbed his hands and squeezed them, before cupping her hands around her tea once more. “The truth is, there was no one else I trusted enough.”

“No, the truth is you have a whole network of people that you usually contact to do this sort of thing. Why me? What’s different about this kid?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. She was holding something back and they both knew it, which was starting to push him past just being annoyed. He’d taken a big risk letting that kid in his house, knowing his parents had caught him with another boy. Taking him in after finding that out, after an activist like Rashida had suggested going to him, was practically outing himself to this kid, who also happened to be his student. How would it look if anyone were to find out his male student had been staying in his home? And what if he gave Nagib a bad grade, would he retaliate by spreading rumors about him? Even a rumor finding the wrong person’s ear was enough to get him fired, or worse. Rashida knew all this, which meant there must have been a very good reason why she was risking his career, at the very least.

She took another sip of tea and set her cup down on the table with more care and attention than the action warranted. Joe let her take the time; he could wait her out. “Okay. But before I tell you, I need you to know that I didn’t make this decision lightly and it was never my intention to cause you trouble.” She took a deep, steadying breath and looked him in the eye before continuing, “I gave him your address because I didn’t trust anyone else not to kick him out when they found out his uncle is Chief of Police.”

For a moment, all Joe could hear was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. His jaw clenched painfully as he tried to hold back the wave of fury and panic that overwhelmed him and threatened to pull him under. He felt so betrayed, hurt, that she could so easily put him in this position and not think twice. It would have been bad enough if the kid had any connection to even a regular officer, but the fucking Chief of Police? If the police looked at him too closely, made any connection between himself and any of the LGBTQ groups he was peripherally involved with, it would be more than his job he would lose. He would go to prison, that was a certainty, and nothing terrified him more than the thought of being stuck in a dark, filthy cell for however many years they would decide to lock him up for. It was horrifying, and the threat was real. When the ringing finally died down and he was once again aware of his body, he found himself standing up with his fists, and just about every muscle in his body, tightly clenched. 

To her credit, Rashida was still in her seat, sipping her tea like she wasn’t fully aware of how hard he was struggling to keep from saying anything he would later regret. Noticing the attention he was starting to attract, Joe took a few calming breaths and carefully sat back down. Neither one of them spoke for several minutes, Rashida’s tea already gone cold but the woman too stubborn to stop drinking it. “For what it’s worth,” she began hesitantly, “I knew you would never turn him away, no matter what. I knew you would help him because you want to help people who are in trouble. It’s that simple.” She smiled weakly at him. “You have a soft heart and a hard head.” 

“Yeah, well neither of those things will be of much use to me when I get thrown in prison.” Needing to escape from the walls that seemed to be closing in on him by the second, Joe got to his feet and left a few pounds on the table. “Your tea is on me.” He hesitated a moment before continuing, “Don’t contact me for a while.” He couldn’t look directly at her, but from the corner of his eye he saw her wipe her eyes and nod. She didn’t apologize and he didn’t expect her to; they both knew she would always make the same decision, no matter what happened. In an environment where one could never be too sure who to trust, Joe knew how much it meant that she trusted him with this. Helping LGBTQ youths in any way she could was more important to her than anything else, and she’d always been upfront about that. He couldn’t fault her for using any and all resources to help a kid in need, even if he was one of those resources. And in the end, she was right. Even knowing what he knew, he would still choose to help because he cared about these kids too.

By the time he got home, the sun had gone down and Joe had no memory of the drive back from campus. Still full of excess energy and the need to _move_ he ran up the three flights of stairs to his apartment and practically slammed open the door. Nagib shot up from where he had been sitting on the couch and nervously wrung his hands.  
“Professor al-Kaysani! I made food! Um, I wasn’t sure when you would get back so it’s probably cold but I can heat it up for you!” The kid practically ran to the kitchen to get started, but Joe had no appetite or desire to even speak at the moment, which was a rarity for him.

“No need. I’m tired, so I’m just gonna head to bed. Thank you, though. Goodnight.” 

“O-okay. Goodnight.” Joe tried not to feel guilty about the disappointment and confusion he heard in Nagib’s voice, but he couldn’t quite manage it. After all, it wasn’t the kid’s fault he was in this situation; he couldn’t help who his family was. If Joe himself hadn’t been feeling so out of sorts, he would have hung around and had an actual discussion with him, but as it was he didn’t think he could even sit still at that point. He retreated to his bedroom and tried his best not to slam the door with marginal success. Tearing off his clothes, possibly ripping a button or two off his shirt in the process, he changed into a pair of sweats and got to work doing as many push-ups as he could before collapsing.

After only a few reps, he realized the floor beneath his hands was not the brown tile of his room, but a dark, faded hardwood. Confused, he moved into a squat and looked around the completely unfamiliar room he’d found himself in. It was a large open space, furnished sparsely with nothing but a mattress pushed into one corner and a small bureau beside it. A tiny kitchenette sat across from the mattress, barely big enough to hold a sink, two burners, and a mini fridge. There were no photos or personal items that Joe could see, giving him no clues as to who resided in the, frankly, bleak space.

Movement sounded behind him, and as he turned to look, he was struck by three thoughts at the exact same time. The first was _shoulders/back/ass_ as he stared at the perfectly sculpted body in front of him shadowbox on a worn blue mat in the corner. Second, he was filled with a flash of excitement as he realized he was actually Visiting another of his cluster-mates, and his third thought was accompanied by a pang of anxiety as he hoped this guy wouldn’t react in the same way Andy had, and tell him to fuck off.

Seeming to sense he was no longer alone, the guy turned around and Joe amended his previous thought with _eyes/chest/arms_. Why the fuck did he have to Visit the most beautiful man he’d ever seen now, when his current mood was not at all conducive to being charming? The man’s piercing gaze traveled over his body in a quick once over before meeting Joe’s eyes, _and what the hell color were they? They were the color of the sky over the Nile in the moment right before a thunderstorm hit, who gave him the right to have eyes like that?_

“You look like you need a good fight.” _Or something else starting with ‘f’_ was the first thing that came to mind, thought so loud and clear in his brain that, for a moment, Joe worried he’d actually said it out loud. Maybe Andy had been onto something, not wanting her thoughts so easily read by another. When the guy raised a questioning eyebrow, he realized he still needed to actually respond instead of just stare at this living embodiment of every fantasy he’d ever had.

“You offering?” The tiny smirk he received in response was enough to get his blood rushing and his adrenalin spiking back up with the need exhaust his body in any way possible.

“I’m Nicky.”

“Joe.” Feeling brazen, he did a few stretches, being unnecessarily showy about it and giving zero fucks. Looked like all those years of kickboxing were finally going to pay off. Finished, he shook his wrists out one last time before putting his fists up and squaring his body. “You ready?” Nicky didn’t bother to respond, just put his fists up and stared him down.

Not one to wait, especially when there was something in front of him he wanted to touch, Joe came at him with a punishing combination of quicksilver jabs and powerful hooks, all of which were easily blocked. As Joe threw all his weight into a left hook, his opponent quickly leaned back and pivoted, letting the swing go wide before grabbing his arm above the elbow. Before he even knew what was happening, Joe’s left leg was pulled out from under him and he found himself flat on his back on the mat. Nicky stared down at him, eyes seeming to ask _is that all you got?_ Feeling a rush of exhilaration at the skill of his opponent, Joe bit his lip and got back to his feet. Now that he had a better idea of what sort of fighter he was up against, he was done holding back.

Moving quickly, he feinted left and went right, ducking down to execute a brutal body shot and following up with his left elbow connecting with the side of Nicky’s head. The other man backed up a few steps, eyes burning into Joe’s own even as he grabbed a water bottle off the floor and took a few quick gulps, spitting out the excess onto the floor. Normally, Joe would have found such an action pretty disgusting, but the barely restrained ferocity of Nicky’s movements only made him want to get his hands on the man even more. Breathing hard and practically shaking with anticipation, Joe forced himself to wait for the attack this time. Somehow he knew that Nicky had near endless patience to wait out his opponents, but Joe wanted him impatient, wanted to see this man lose his calm façade and become the caged animal he could see just below the surface.

He didn’t have to wait long before Nicky came at him with a left cross and a push kick that had Joe stumbling back a few steps, before following up with a combination of hooks and crosses that Joe blocked between executing his own punches, waiting for an opening. Sweat poured down his face and his skin burned everywhere Nicky’s skin even brushed his own. He heard nothing but Nicky’s half feral grunts and growls, saw nothing but miles of sweat soaked skin, was aware of nothing that was not this beautiful man; this endless well of passion and ferocity hidden behind a quiet voice and calm demeanor. Joe _felt_ him, felt everything he tried to hide from the world and he knew Nicky could feel the same from him. So this was what it meant to be a sensate. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating, feeling a space he hadn’t known existed within himself expand and make room to perfectly fit the soul of another. 

They traded blows for an unquantifiable amount of time, neither gaining the upper hand until Joe overextended his right cross and Nicky swooped in, arms wrapping around Joe’s waist and taking him down hard. They’d ended up tangled together on the mat, Joe flat on his back once more and Nicky on his knees between his thighs. Breathing in each other’s air, they stared at each other, bodies locked together and sweat mingling. It was long moments before Nicky rolled off of him, collapsing on the mat close enough for Joe to feel the heat emanating from his body. For a while they just lay there, trying to catch their breaths, before Nicky turned to him and smugly asked, “Feel better?” Joe laughed breathlessly and nodded.

“Much.” The other man smiled softly before getting to his feet and offering Joe a hand. Taking it, he let Nicky pull him to his feet, making a concerned noise when Nicky winced and held a hand to his left side. Waving away Joe’s concern, he shuffled to the water bottle still lying on the floor and took a swig. 

“I’ve fought with worse injuries, trust me. It’s nothing, just a cracked rib.” It didn’t sit well with Joe, that he should brush off any kind of injury as if his pain didn’t matter, but he could sense Nicky would not take well to any more worry being shown on his behalf, so he let it go. “Whatever you were upset about,” Nicky began quietly, “I’m always here if you need to talk about it.” He looked down and smiled self-deprecatingly. “I’ve been told that I’m a good listener.”

“I might take you up on that sometime.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Nicky about it, he was just worried that talking about it would bring up all the anger and dread that had been so thoroughly beaten out of him. He was feeling good, the fight being just what he needed. The other man nodded and ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair and it suddenly hit Joe in that moment that they could be anywhere in the world. Excitement flowing through his veins, he looked around in vain for a window or any clue as to where this man lived. “By the way… where are we?”

“Rome.”

“Italy?” Oh, how Joe had always yearned to travel the world! And now he was on another continent without having physically left his home; life always had a tendency to surprise him with something miraculously beautiful just when needed it most. It had followed this trend when he’d first seen the sun shining on the pristine white marble courtyard of Al Azhar as a child, and it continued into adulthood, in moments and places and people.

“Yes. Where are you?”

“Cairo.” Nicky’s eyes widened, echoing Joe’s own sense of wonder. Slowly, Nicky’s lips widened into a shockingly vulnerable smile and Joe couldn’t help but think, in the whole of his experience on this earth, this man was the most beautiful thing he’d ever encountered.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning! Depression/depressed thoughts and Implied/Referenced child abuse. If you want specifics, I'll go into more detail in the end notes. This chapter is pretty dark, folks. Please take care of yourself!**
> 
> I did not expect to get this out tonight, but Nicky was very insistent. Also! The song used in this chapter is the Antony and the Johnsons' "Knocking on Heaven's Door". I know they already used this song in Sense8, but it was just so perfect for the tone of this chapter.
> 
> The description of depression in this chapter is based on my own struggles with it. If you have any issues with how it's portrayed, please keep in mind that everyone experiences things differently. That being said, I hope you enjoy!

**Nicky- Rome, Italy**

The exhilaration and wonder of Joe’s Visit lasted almost three days before the walls started closing in on him. He’d tried all his usual tricks to keep himself above water; exercise, focusing on positives, rereading his favorite books, treating himself to a bowl of his favorite pistachio gelato. But nothing helped. His workouts left him drained, all the positive things in his life that he normally appreciated just seemed inconsequential and small. The words of his favorite books were hollow and meaningless. He’d tried so hard to connect to the familiar passages, but the effort it took trying to enjoy the book was exhausting, so he gave up. It was useless. He knew what was coming and he knew he’d already passed the point of no return.

It all came to a head around midnight on the fourth day after meeting Joe. Lying spread out on his mattress, he stared at the ceiling of his horrible little room, in this horrible city where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his horrible life, and he couldn’t take it. Throwing on the first things he saw, he rushed out of his apartment and onto the empty street, starting the mile-long trek to the only place that gave him any comfort nowadays.

The Tiber River was deserted this late at night, and Nicky was glad for it. He breathed in the familiar, tangy air and tried to find the peace he usually felt at its banks but to no avail. Sitting at the edge of the river, he hugged his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, staring at the water gently rippling past. Taking deep breaths, he desperately tried to contain the suffocating, empty _thing_ in his chest. It had been so long, so fucking long since it had been this bad. He’d thought it was all behind him, that the worst was over and he was finally on his way to something like recovery, but of course he wasn’t. He was a failure at this, just like everything else he’d ever tried to do.

He wanted to go _home._ He missed it with such an ache clawing through his chest that sometimes he felt he might choke on it. He missed the sharp, briny smell of the Ligurian Sea, missed the homes crowded together haphazardly on the rolling hills, missed his mother’s smile and his father’s cooking and his sister’s obnoxious pop music. He missed the person he’d thought he could be, back then, before everything fell apart. The person who had unshakeable faith in God, and the church, and himself; before it all turned to shit and left his faith shattered, fragile as glass.

Back home he’d always known he belonged, known he had a place in the community. After leaving everything behind, he felt untethered, adrift. Disconnected from the world and everyone in it, apart from it instead of a part of it. He felt like a wandering spirit, some insubstantial thing that floated through the world, always reaching but never able to touch.

Finding out he was a sensate and meeting Joe had made him think that maybe things were different, maybe _he_ could be different, but it was just another false hope. How had he ever thought to be worthy of a connection with one such as Joe? The man was a force of nature; he was a hurricane, a tidal wave, the fierce brightness of the sun, and Nicky could only dream of being allowed the honor of worshipping at the altar of his radiance. If Joe knew who he really was, what he had done and what he had failed to do, surely he would turn away in shame. And it would be no more than Nicky knew he deserved. _Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa._

How would he be able to face Joe, face any of his cluster, if the truth came out? The truth about what an unforgivable coward he was? How could any of them accept him after finding out what he had allowed to happen, what he’d let that monster do to so many innocents? His own excommunication paled in comparison to that; the disgrace he’d brought to his family paled in comparison. He’d been blind, so fucking blind, and too many had paid the price. He deserved everything that had happened to him and more, and if he could take the pain of those children into himself, he would. As it was, he knew these black moods of his, which he’d suffered from even as a child but which had grown progressively worse with age, were part of his punishment. Five years ago, he’d been getting better, hadn’t had an episode in years; and then The Incident happened, and the scandal and everything that came after, and he’d spiraled into the deepest depression he’d ever experienced. Crawling out of that dark, slimy pit hadn’t been easy but he’d done it and now…

Now he could feel himself slipping back down.

What was he supposed to do? If he were more akin to a spirit now, back then he was even less than that; a wisp of a person, nothing but smoke and shadows and complete apathy towards his own existence. He wasn’t sure he would be able to come back from that as he had before, and it scared him. On the other hand, wasn’t this pain his due? Didn’t he deserve to feel every empty, miserable moment of it? He wasn’t so naïve as to think God was the one punishing him; he knew he was the conductor of his own misery, but did that make it any less of a penance for his past transgressions? If God even existed, He clearly had no care for His children, but didn’t that make it even more important for everyone to take responsibility for themselves and their deeds? To do good because they _chose_ to do it, not just so they would be granted entry into Heaven? And wasn’t finding justice for those victims a good deed? Didn’t he then have a responsibility to take the punishment he deserved as justice for those he’d wronged? _And,_ a traitorous voice whispered sibilantly, _“Wouldn’t it be such a relief to just let go? To stop fighting and clawing and just let the warm blanket of darkness enfold you?_

Holding back tears he knew he had no right to shed, Nicky was surprised to realize he’d been singing something without even being aware of it. The words were unfamiliar, but they spoke to him nonetheless, threatening to bring everything he was trying to keep down out to the surface. The music was so clear in his mind, it was almost as though he was listening to it through his headphones. As he continued to sing softly to himself, he heard another voice joining his, heartbreaking in it’s quiet sorrow. He turned his head to the right and saw a woman sitting next to him, tears running down her cheeks. She stared at the water for a long moment before looking over at him, and in her eyes he saw the same crushing regret and loneliness that haunted him. He felt the despair and doubt that she was fighting a constant battle to hold back. It mirrored his own in many ways, and he knew the last thing she needed right then was for him to try and make her pain go away; they both knew no amount of comforting would make that happen. Instead, they sang together, quiet voices mingling together in the dark. After singing the last note, Nicky offered as much of a smile as he was capable of making at the moment.

“I’m Nicky,” he offered.

“I’m Nile.” She answered softly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Nile.” They watched each other for a moment, both feeling the weight of understanding between them. And even though it didn’t lessen their pain, or solve their problems, they both felt comforted by the presence of the other. Nicky reached out and felt the strength and solidity of Nile’s hand as she pressed it into his. As one, they both turned back to the river.

_Knock, knock, knocking on Heaven’s door,  
Knock, knock, knocking on Heaven’s door,  
Knock, knock, knocking on Heaven’s door,  
Knock, knock, knocking on Heaven’s door.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression/depressed thoughts: Nicky slips into a depressed state and starts thinking about the events that landed him in Rome. He remembers previous episodes of depression during his life, the worst of which is described. He spends a lot of time thinking about depression as a form of punishment and at one point a voice whispers that he should let go and stop fighting. The 'letting go' that is mentioned is meant as letting go of ever being happy or healthy. It gets pretty dark, but suicide is never mentioned or implied. The whole chapter is pretty much a long, one-sided conversation about guilt, shame, consequences, and punishment.
> 
> There are references to child abuse, but they are not specific.
> 
> Also, he spends quite a bit of time thinking about the existence of God and his own loss of faith.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh...this chapter went Places that I was not expecting it to go. All these characters have minds of their own, and I'm just along for the ride. That being said, I really like where this ended up and I hope you do too!
> 
> Also! I changed some of the tags since some of my original storylines have changed.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Lykon- Queens, US**

It was almost dawn by the time he managed to drag his feet up the five flights of stairs that led to his apartment, and Lykon was _exhausted._ Locking the door behind him with a relieved sigh, he toed off his shoes and made a beeline for the kitchen and his reward for making it through another long night- a nice, full glass of the best pinot noir $15 could buy. 

Shuffling tiredly to his couch, he sat down heavily and let out a deep, calming breath. He’d been looking forward to his nightly relaxation ritual all day, and it had been a very. Long. Day. Closing his eyes, his thoughts wandered back to the clinic and the little girl he’d patched up. Amanda. Her injury had been simple to treat; just a dislocated shoulder, which her father had admitted happened when he took his eyes off of her in the park. He’d been very forthcoming, answering all of Lykon’s questions with no hesitation or body language suggesting a lie. On paper everything seemed fine but… there was just something _off._ His gut was telling him there was something wrong there, but with no proof of anything there was very little he could do. One thing was for sure, he would be keeping a much close eye on the clinic’s check-in logs. If she or her father came in again he would be getting in touch with someone at Child Services.

Taking a sip of wine, he hummed in satisfaction and leaned his head on the back of the couch, closing his eyes. It was the simple pleasures that made life enjoyable and damn, he was enjoying that wine.

“Ugh, how can you drink that cat piss?” An unfamiliar voice slurred next to him. Letting out a very manly shriek, Lykon leapt off the couch, managing to grab his wineglass before it hit the floor, but not before its contents spilled all over his shirt. Clutching the glass to his chest, he gawped at the man lounging indolently on his couch, the man who had most certainly not been there just a moment ago. He found himself being studied by a pair of hooded blue eyes, and before he could even open his mouth to ask _who the fuck this guy even was,_ the man stood up and took several unsteady steps until they stood practically nose to nose. Taking the wineglass from right out of his hands, the man drained what was left and handed it back. “Your priorities are fucked. The shirt was much nicer than the wine.” He wobbled his way into the kitchen, and Lykon finally managed to pull himself together enough to follow.

After the initial shock of finding a total stranger sitting next to him on what was an empty couch just moments ago, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. This man was Visiting him. If he were being honest with himself, Lykon had thought that maybe Will and everything he said about being a sensate was nothing more than delirium brought on by too much work and too little sleep. But it was real. Holy shit, this was real. He was actually being Visited by someone in his cluster, this was amazing! 

What wasn’t amazing was the fact that his cluster-mate was kind of being a little bitch about Lykon’s liquor selection, which, hey, literally no one asked you, buddy. But apparently this guy was one of those hipsters who didn’t drink anything but top shelf whiskey and fancy ass wines. He certainly looked the part; distressed t-shirt that looked ancient but was probably designer, artfully faded jeans that lovingly highlighted just how long his stupid legs were, and one of those ridiculous undercut hairstyles with a few strands falling messily-on-purpose into his eyes. He seemed like one of those assholes who cared about how long a barrel was aged or whether its undertones tasted more like some special type of dirt or moss or some shit. God, and he was supposed to be connected to this pretentious dick?

“As much as I’d love to hear you criticize my taste in liquor, you wanna tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?”

“Hm?” The guy turned back to look at him, almost surprised to see there was someone else in the room, which was, frankly, insulting considering this was, you know, his damn house. “Oh, my name is Sebastien. But call me Booker, Sebastien sounds like some prick.” Hazy blue eyes gave him a lazy once over before suddenly focusing and taking a much more thorough look, raising an eyebrow and smirking slimily. “On second thought, you can call me whatever you want.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and attempted to lean a hip against the counter, but misjudged the distance and stumbled around a bit before managing to right himself, holding his arms out in the universal wasted person’s sign for _I’m okay._ “Woah.”

Right. Of course, it was just his luck that first person to Visit him would be a drunken mess. Because he didn’t get enough of this shit at work, now he had to worry about taking care of random drunks at home too. “So, uh, Booker,” he started, unsure about the man’s ability to even have a conversation at the moment, “What are you doing here?”

Booker squinted and looked around the room, like he would find the answer to that question mixed in between a box of pasta and cans of beans. “Not sure.” Reaching into his back pocket, he took out a small silver flask and took a hearty gulp of its contents.

“Oh. Right. Just keep drinking.” Lykon muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I miss my kids, man. My boys, they’re getting so big, and I just,” his voice cracked and Lykon could see tears welling in his eyes. Great. Listening to drunks ramble as he treated their injuries was one thing, but comforting someone who was clearly going through some shit was not his forte. “I just want to see my boys, you know? Marie, she fucking hates me, fine. But my boys? I just want to see them! What’s so wrong about that?” Booker stared at him pleadingly, eyes shiny with tears and wide in his face. Well, damn. Lykon reluctantly felt himself soften. It was clear that this man loved his kids and was really grieving at their absence in his life; if that wasn’t cause to drink he didn’t know what was. Against his better judgement, but feeling like he had to do _something_ Lykon hesitantly wrapped his arms around the other man, embracing him tightly as Booker slumped into his hold. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that, man. You’re a good father.”

Booker snorted, shaking his head against Lykon’s shoulder. “I’m a shitty father. And a shitty husband. Ex. Ex-husband. And my kids fucking hate me. Everything I do is wrong.” Moving faster than Lykon thought possible for someone who couldn’t even stand without tripping a second ago, Booker shoved him hard into the fridge. “You’re a good person. Don’t try to argue, you’re good and I’m not and I’m only going to drag you down into my shit. Just stay away from me.” He turned around and tried to walk away, but his feet got tangled in each other and he tipped over. Barely moving in time to stop Booker from faceplanting onto his kitchen floor, Lykon caught him around the shoulders, struggling to keep him upright and not fall down himself under the weight. “I’m just a piece of shit,” Booker mumbled into his chest, falling completely limp in his arms as he passed out.

For a moment, Lykon just stood there holding Booker up, and tried to process. If he was being honest, this was not exactly how he saw his first meeting with one of his cluster going. He’d imagined more actual conversation, for one. Maybe sharing a bottle of wine and talking about themselves and what it meant to be a sensate. Maybe he’d even Visit them too, wherever they were in the world. Well, that’s what he got for having expectations, he supposed, hefting Bookers’s dead weight in his arms.

“Okay, I guess we’re doing this, then,” he grunted to himself, picking the other man up and carrying him bridal style into his bedroom. Depositing him carefully on the bed, Lykon took a second to really look at his unexpected visitor, and felt a pang of _something_ go through him. He couldn’t deny he felt drawn to the man somehow, regardless of the fact that he still thought Booker was a pretentious asshole. He obviously loved his children dearly and wanted nothing more than to spend time with them; that in itself spoke volumes about his character. He may not have known anything about Booker’s life, but he knew who he was deep down, and he was a good person. Maybe he just needed someone to convince him of that, to believe in his own goodness when he himself wasn’t able to.

Resigned to getting little, if any, sleep that night, Lykon grabbed a bucket from out of the bathroom and set it down on the floor near Booker. Quickly changing out of his work clothes and mourning the loss of one of his favorite shirts, he slid into bed next to the sleeping man and clicked on the lamp next to his bed. He knew he didn’t have to watch over the other man, but something inside of him wanted to, wondered if anyone had bothered to take care of him after a night spent binge drinking. 

With a start, Lykon realized he’d been running his hand soothingly through Booker’s greasy blond strands and pulled his hand away, holding it to his chest as if it had a life of it’s own and would try to go back if he didn’t keep it away. Shaking his head at his own weirdness, he grabbed the book on his bedside table and started to read, strangely comforted by the presence of the sleeping man. It had been a long time since he’d had someone share his bed, not that he was sharing his bed _like that_ , God no. It was just nice to feel that there was someone else there, that he wasn’t completely alone in his apartment and his life, even if his companion was a sad, smelly, drunk who…yup, had just farted in his damned bed.

Snorting a laugh, Lykon shook his head and continued to read, smile staying on his face the rest of the night.

*****

Waking up with a start, it took Lykon several blinking moments to get his brain back online. His eyes were gritty and his head felt like someone was hitting him over and over with a hardcover copy of Grey’s Anatomy. _What the hell happened last night?_ Rolling over in bed, his arm reached out for someone who wasn’t there and the whole night came rushing back to him. Sitting up, he looked around for his last night’s unexpected visitor, but he could feel that his apartment was empty once more. Falling back on his bed with a sigh, he ran his hands over his head, rubbing ineffectually at the pounding in his skull. 

Slowly getting to his feet, he lumbered into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water from the tap. What the hell was going on here? He’d barely managed to get in a sip of wine last night, how could he _possibly_ be… oh. Of fucking course. He wasn’t the one who was hungover, it was goddamned Booker and now he was the one feeling the effects. Great. So far, being a sensate was _so much fun._

Popping a couple of Advil, Lykon shuffled back into his room and opened his closet for his running clothes, when he heard the shower start running in his bathroom. “The hell…?” Tiptoeing into the bathroom, he pulled the curtain open to be confronted with none other than Booker; soapy water running down the hills and valleys of his muscular back, down over his very fine, very firm… nope. Nu-uh. Eyes up top, mister. 

“Oh, we meet again,” Booker smirked, turning around and leaning back against the shower wall. Lykon kept his eyes steady on the other man’s face, letting out an annoyed huff. “You can come join me if you want. There’s room for two.”

God, this man was so fucking irritating. “I’m good. What I do want, is for you to keep your goddamned hangovers to yourself. Think you can do that, so I can enjoy my one day off in peace?” 

Holding up his hands in supplication, Booker responded, “I’ll try, but no promises. Speaking for myself, I’m still trying to figure this shit out.”

“Great. Thanks.” Rolling his eyes, Lykon pulled the curtain closed and trudged out of the bathroom back into-

Not his bedroom. Standing still and staring at the unfamiliar room, Lykon realized two things. One, he’d unwittingly Visited what must be Booker’s apartment, holy shit, where the hell even was he?! And two, Booker was a damned slob. Wrinkling his nose at the mess of empty liquor bottles and takeout containers that surrounded him, he was forced to amend his original assumptions about his cluster-mate. The man clearly didn’t drink top shelf anything. The only bottles he could see were all… was there a word for below bottom shelf? At this rate, Booker would be blind within a month, drinking that crap. And he’d had the nerve to give him shit over his wine?

The man in question sauntered out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel tied precariously around his waist. “Still here?” He asked, making his way to the pile of clothes on the bed that apparently constituted a closet. Before Lykon could avert his eyes, the other man unceremoniously dropped the towel and bent down, rummaging through the pile for what Lykon hoped would be a pair of nasty, unflattering, old man boxers, but no. Of course he would wear black bikini briefs that highlighted every… nope. Not going there. Goddamned Europeans and their goddamned tiny underwear. “It occurs to me, that I didn’t actually get your name last night.” Looking over his shoulder, Booker smiled that dumb, annoying smile of his, and went back to the pile, hopefully looking for a giant, ugly-ass robe to cover up all… that.

“Lykon.”

“Well, Lykon,” he replied, drawing out the vowels slowly, “Welcome to Paris.” It occurred to Lykon then, as Booker pulled on the first holey t-shirt he grabbed out of the pile, that his assessment of the other man last night had been completely wrong. He wasn’t some rich hipster trying to be cool by drinking expensive things and pretending he was too deep to care about his appearance. He really was just that much of a disaster human being.

“I bet you cut your own hair, don’t you?” Taking the non-sequitur in stride, he shrugged.

“What, I’m gonna spend twenty Euros on a haircut? I have clippers and a sink, what more do I need?” Huffing out a laugh and shaking his head, Lykon couldn’t help being reluctantly charmed. Turning to the large windows across from the bed, he looked out over the sprawling city of Paris, the Eiffel Tower a tiny but recognizable landmark in the distance. This was real. He was really in a tiny studio apartment in Paris, spending time with a charismatic but barely functioning alcoholic. Even though he didn’t know what he’d been like before, Lykon knew Booker was only such a mess of a man because he missed his family and was trying to fill that hole with drink. Understandable. But if he continued down this road, he would probably never be able to see his kids. What mother would trust a man to take care of her kids when he couldn’t even take care of himself? 

Closing his eyes in resignation, Lykon decided he was going to do what he could to help this guy get his kids back, starting now with a distraction. “I’ve never been to Paris before.”

“Oh no? Where are you from?”

“New York. I live in Queens.”

“The Big Apple, eh? I’ve never been, must be nice.”

Lykon nodded. “It is. Has it’s problems, but I like living there.” Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I always wanted to go to Paris. See the sights, eat the bread.” 

Barking out a laugh, Booker sidled up behind him. “If you want me to show you around, all you have to do is ask,” he murmured, breath tickling against Lykon’s ear. Rolling his eyes, he turned around, pressing his lips together to try and hide his exasperated smile. 

“Fine. Will you show me around Paris,” he asked without inflection, hoping to seem more aggravated than he actually was.

Booker shrugged. “I don’t have shit to do so, why not?” To Lykon’s horror, he grabbed the same pair of worn out, smelly jeans he’d worn last night off the floor and pulled them on, shoving his feet into a pair of boots lying carelessly in front of the couch. “Let’s show you Paris.”


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! I meant to post last night, but I fell asleep before I finished editing! This is another pretty dark chapter, so please mind the trigger warnings and take care of yourselves. Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> The song mentioned is 'Seigfried' by Frank Ocean
> 
> **Trigger Warning- PTSD, Depression, Panic attacks, Discussion of war. See end notes for details.**

**Nile- Chicago, USA**

Day One

Music blared from the iPhone dock on the picnic table in the backyard, at least a dozen people were crowded around the grill waiting for a burger, and Nile was taking a moment alone to compose herself in the upstairs bathroom. Staring at her reflection, she gripped the sink so tightly her bones creaked. _Breathe. Just breathe. In. And out._ It took several minutes for her breath to even out and her heart to get back down to a steady beat and by the time she felt like a normal human again, she knew she’d been gone long enough for people to start noticing her absence.

It was just so stupid. She hated feeling like this, like she didn’t want to be around her family and friends. She loved them, and she’d missed them terribly when she’d been in Afghanistan, but they were all just… so _close_. They were constantly surrounding her and hugging her and grabbing at her and she knew they meant well but, damn, she just needed time to herself. 

Worst part was, it wasn’t like she was unused to being around big crowds of people. Back in theater, she was surrounded by Marines 24/7 and she’d never once felt like she was going to have a breakdown if she didn’t get away.

A soft knock startled her out of her thoughts. “Nile? You okay in there?” Of course, Drew would be the first to notice she’d been gone a while. Her brother had always been preceptive when it came to things she didn’t want to discuss. 

“I’m fine! I’ll be out in a second,” she called through the door, hoping she sounded happy and normal and not at all like she’d just had a panic attack in the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face, she practiced smiling in the mirror, needing to be sure it looked natural and not as fake as it felt. Satisfied, she took a deep breath and summoned her best smile before opening the door and rejoining the party.

Day Two

Well. That had certainly not been what she’d expected when she went for a late night glass of water. Then again, who in their right mind would actually _expect_ to see a random dude appear in their kitchen in the middle of the night to tell them they weren’t technically human? And that they had a mental connection with six other people? And that apparently that same dude had _given birth_ to them as a group? It sounded nuts, like just the kind of trippy dream someone had when they were trying and failing not to fall asleep. Last night it had felt so real, but now? In the light of day? No way. She must have fallen asleep at some point and, by some miracle she wasn’t about to question, had _that_ dream instead of the nightmare that usually haunted her sleep.

Hell, she’d dream of Will every single night if he was the alternative to the shit her brain usually came up with. 

Day Three

Nile was sprawled out on the couch, staring blankly at whatever was playing on the TV when Drew trampled in and stood in front of her, blocking her view. Not that she’d been particularly invested in, or even aware of, what she had been watching, but still. It was annoying and she always hated when he did that, like what he had to say was more important than what anyone else was doing.

“Let’s go to the movies. That new superhero movie just came out and I _know_ you wanna take me to see it.” He grinned at her excitedly and yeah, normally she would have dragged him out to the movies herself, but she just wasn’t interested.

“I’m already watching something. Maybe tomorrow.”

Scrunching up his face in confusion, Drew looked back at the TV and raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to tell me you’re too busy watching _The Real Housewives_ to go to the movies with me?” he asked skeptically. Shit, was that what she’d been watching? 

“Yes. Now move.”

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Drew planted his feet and lifted his chin. “No.”

“Move. Now.”

“Make me.”

If asked to describe just what went through her head at that moment, Nile wouldn’t have been able to answer. All she knew was that in that moment, she went from irritated to full on rage. Her vision faded to red and all she knew was that she had to get this _out_ of her, had to put this feeling _somewhere_ , so she grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on and threw it as hard as she could at the wall, screaming “Get out!”

The silence was the loudest sound she’d ever heard. Breath heaving, it took her a second to realize what she’d done. Drew was staring at her, eyes wide in his face and for the first time in her entire life, she realized he was scared of her. Feeling like she was moving underwater, she looked down and saw shards of glass all over the floor. A glass of water. She’d thrown a glass of water at her brother. Horrified, she brought her hands up to her face, covering her mouth. He was still just standing there, like his brain had shut off and was having trouble rebooting.

“Oh my God, Drew. Drew, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it, please,” she reached out for him and he flinched, backing up a few steps. Her own brother was fucking scared of her, what kind of monster was she? Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt them run softly down her cheeks. “Please, I’m so fucking sorry,” she sobbed, falling down into a crouch on the floor. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she kept crying to herself over and over. This was her fault, everything was her fault. She was a monster, she never should have come back from the desert, how could she have come back and not her friends? How? How did she keep letting everyone down?

A pair of arms hesitantly wrapped around her and she clawed at them desperately. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” her brother soothed. “You’re okay. You’re home. We love you and you’re safe here. We love you.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She knew they loved her and they shouldn’t, she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve anything.

Day Six

Dinner was loud, as usual. Ever since she’d come back home, all her aunties and uncles and old friends from before the war had been coming over almost every single day and, to be honest, Nile was getting a little tired of it. Sure, it was nice to see them but it was just so draining to be _on_ all the time. To laugh and joke and smile like nothing was wrong, like she wasn’t bursting at the seams with how much she just wanted to scream and cry and yell at them _“how can I just sit here when my best friends are gone?”_ And god, the stupid shit they all talked about, like it was some big deal that Michelle just bought a brand new couch or that Nikki’s braiding salon was getting more clients. Who the fuck cared about all that? Was this the kind of shit civilians filled their lives with, the kind of shit she used to talk about? That life was so far from her now, it felt like she hadn’t even lived it. Like anything before joining the Marines was something she’d read in a book, a story from someone else’s life.

She just wanted to leave. She wanted to go back to Afghanistan and never set foot in that fucking desert again. She wanted her friends to be alive. She wanted her Dad back so she could ask him “was it worth it?” She wanted to sleep without being afraid of what she would see.

Hands shaking, Nile stood up from the table and brought her empty plate to the sink. She didn’t even remember eating. Everything was tasteless anyway, just piles of ash in her mouth.

“Nile, baby, you alright?” her Mom asked concernedly. “You’ve been so quiet.” Throwing her a smile over her shoulder, Nile focused on washing her plate.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m just tired. Must still be jet-lagged.” She hated lying to her Mom. She loved her, of course she did, but since she came home there seemed to be a veil hovering over everyone, making them hazy and out of focus. Or maybe the veil was only covering _her_ , making itself a barrier between her and the rest of the world. Keeping her hidden away, preventing her from being able to really touch or feel anyone. Nothing felt real, the people she loved even less so. This was her family, what the hell was wrong with her that she felt so detached from them all?

Sticking the dish in the drying rack, Nile came up behind her Mom’s chair and kissed the top of her head. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

“So early?”

Smiling her best fake smile, Nile replied, “Yeah, I’m pretty beat. Jet-lag is no joke.” She caught her brother’s eye across the table and looked away in shame. They still hadn’t spoken about what happened a few days ago, but she knew the time was coming. Drew wouldn’t stay quiet about it for much longer, and every time he looked at her she could see the worry in his eyes. “’Night, everyone!” She walked out of the room to a chorus of ‘goodnights’ and felt like shit. She was a fraud. Pretending everything was okay, pretending from the moment she got home that she’d been planning to talk to her family about what was going on in her head. It was bullshit. Deep down, she knew she was never planning to tell them anything. How could she when she couldn’t even face it herself?

Locking herself in her room, she pulled her curtains closed and turned off the lights. It was only 5:00 and the sun hadn’t even started to set yet, but she just needed to lie in the dark for a little while. Just shut off everything and not even think. Shoving her headphones on her head, she searched around her phone for something to listen to. Finally deciding, she laid back on her bed and closed her eyes, letting the music take her mind to a quiet place where she could relax and just be.

_This is not my life  
It’s just a fond farewell to a friend  
It’s just a fond farewell to a friend  
This is not my life  
It’s just a fond farewell to a friend  
It’s not what I’m like_

*******

Gasping awake, Nile thrashed around the bed, barely managing to stifle a scream into her pillow. But once she started she couldn’t stop, screaming and screaming until the screams turned to heaving sobs and she was nearly suffocating herself. She couldn’t be loud, she couldn’t let anyone hear her or they would come in and she couldn’t let anyone see her like this. God, it was all her fault. How could she just walk around like she hadn’t done anything wrong, like she wasn’t the reason-

No. She couldn’t think about that. Sweating and trembling with adrenalin, she fumbled around for the headphones she’d knocked off her head, putting on the first song that came up and trying to breathe, _in. Out. In. Out._ Just breathe. One breath after the other, and everything will be fine. Just. Breathe.

Once she was able to take in air without feeling like she was dying, she closed her eyes and focused on the music, the soft piano melody that filled her ears. Recognizing the song immediately, she balled her hands into fists and squeezed her eyes tight, trying to keep her tears from spilling. 

Really? Knockin on Heaven’s Door? Of all songs, why that one? Why was that playing right now when it was the last thing she wanted to hear? When it reminded her of everything she’d lost? God, she couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep walking around, smiling and laughing when all the while she had this pit inside her that nothing could ever fill. She couldn’t keep running from this, running from what she did and what she’d failed to do. She couldn’t keep running from the guilt and the pain; she deserved to feel it, every ounce of it.

Singing along softly, she let her tears fall, let herself really feel it for the first time; feel the loss and regret and emptiness inside herself. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring at a gently lapping river, the few lights still on in the surrounding buildings twinkling in the water. It was a beautiful sight and she couldn’t even manage to care. She heard someone singing next to her, the same song she was singing, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him for a long moment, even though she knew he was aware of her. So this was real. Will hadn’t just been a dream, she was really here with another sensate somewhere in the world. Without even looking at him, she could feel the other man’s crushing despair and, for the first time since she’d come home, she felt close to another person. Like if she reached out, she would be able to really feel him, not just a muffled version of him. Turning her head to face him, she found his eyes already watching her. He had a kind face, a gentleness in his expression, that she could feel reflected a caring nature. As they sang together, little by little, the hard knot of loneliness in her chest eased just a fragment; and when their hands met, and she could feel that connection between them, she finally felt ready to talk about the one thing she never wanted to let out of her chest.

“I killed my friends.” Nicky stared at her calmly, keeping a hold on her hand, eyes free of the judgement Nile knew she deserved.

“Tell me.”

And she did. The whole, agonizing story came out; how her platoon had been caught in an ambush, bullets and sand flying in all directions, covering the whole area with dust and grit. She’d seen a Marine go down a few feet away and left her position to help her because there was no one else. No one else was close enough or in a good enough position to get to her, but Nile had been, so she did. She put pressure on the wound and was trying to field dress it when, through her own screams for help and the sounds of gunfire all around, she heard something drop behind her. She hadn’t even bothered to look at what it was. She was so focused on helping the soldier in front of her that she ignored the ones behind her. She only looked behind her when she heard another heavy thud, and then she saw them. Her friends, who had been covering her back, who’d always had her back from the moment they met in Basic. They’d been protecting her because she’d done something reckless, and now they were dead, and how was she supposed to live with that?  
Nicky stayed utterly silent as she sobbed with the tremendous loss she hadn’t let herself confront until now, still holding her hand gently in his.

“What were their names?” He asked once her tears had finally dried up, voice breaking with their shared pain.

“Dizzy. And Jay.” She hadn’t spoken their names since it happened, images of their smiling faces so crystal clear in her mind it was like they were standing in front of her once more; teasing her about her taste in music, or sharing ridiculous stories about their worst first dates. She heard their laughter and felt their arms pull her into a hug and she felt all the love being best friends for nearly a decade had created.

“They were beautiful people, Nile.” He spoke with the conviction of someone who’d known them and, as she watched tears fall from his eyes, she realized he had. He knew them through her and her memories and her love for them and he felt their loss as keenly as she herself did. “But you didn’t kill them. The one who shot them, killed them. They made a choice to protect you because they loved you. They knew the risk and they did it anyway because to do otherwise would have killed them just as surely as those bullets did.” Nile shook her head, but he continued, “remember their lives, not their deaths. The pain of losing them is always worth the memory of how it felt to love them.”

“It just hurts so much,” she choked out, arms going around herself in a parody of a hug. Face crumpling in pain, Nicky pulled her into his own arms and held her tightly. She didn’t know how long they sat there together, just holding each other in their grief. When she’d finally gotten herself under control again, she was surprised to find that the gnawing grief she’d been carrying around was, not gone, of course it wasn’t, but it had diminished just a little. Wiping the wetness off her face, she pulled out of Nicky’s embrace and he let her go easily, leaving a hand gently resting on her shoulder. “You know,” she started quietly, holding Nicky’s hand on her shoulder, “you can share with me too. I feel what you feel, Nicky, I know you’re going through something. I’m here for you.”

“I know,” he smiled. “And one day I’ll talk about it, but-“

“Not right now. Well, when you’re ready…”

He nodded. “I know where to find you.” They shared a smile and Nile suddenly found herself back in her room in Chicago, like she’d never even left. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still feeling the tiny ember of warmth and calm that was Nicky, deep in her mind. Enough. No more excuses, no more running. She was a fucking Marine, she was stronger than this.

Tomorrow she was going to find a therapist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nile is suffering from depression and feelings of worthlessness and shame, which is described in a fair amount of detail throughout the chapter. She has an episode of rage where she throws a glass of water at her brother. It doesn't hit him. She has panic attacks, which are described. At one point she wakes up from a nightmare and has a panic attack, and calms herself down. She talks about being in an ambush in Afghanistan, and the deaths of multiple people, which are not described in detail.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, you guys, I'm so sorry for the long wait! I've been feeling very under the weather for the past few days and I had zero motivation to write until last night. I really apologize if anyone thought I'd abandoned this fic. I definitely haven't and I promise I won't stop writing until it's finished!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented! I look forward to hearing from all of you, and if I haven't replied yet, I will very soon!
> 
> I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I just can't edit it anymore! I'm sorry if it's not up to usual standards, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

**Noriko- Tokyo, Japan**

At night, Noriko dreamt of drowning. She was trapped, chained inside a metal coffin in the vastness of the ocean and she was falling, falling forever, screaming and thrashing in fury and anguish. She screamed and screamed but no one came because no one knew she was there.

Opening her eyes, she took a moment to stare at the ceiling, getting her bearings. When she was a child she used to wake up from her nightmares screaming, but her father had her grow out of that over the years, and now she woke with barely a sound. When her grandmother had still been alive, she’d encouraged Noriko to talk about her nightmares, always telling her that facing her fears and bringing them into the light would help her conquer them. “Quynh,” she used to say, using the Vietnamese name her mother had given her, “keeping your fears unspoken of and locked in the dark only gives them more power.”

No one had called her Quynh since her grandmother died, her father wishing to ignore any references to his wife’s Vietnamese heritage, and her mother going along with his wishes. She missed it, always felt like it suited her better than Noriko. Quynh was the name for a beautiful night blooming cactus flower, whereas Noriko meant law, order, and ceremony. The differences in her names mirrored how her father and grandmother had seen her. Her father had raised her to be a dutiful daughter and the epitome of what he believed a proper Japanese woman should be. Her grandmother had always urged her to be wild, to follow her heart wherever it led, as long as she was true to herself. It was she who’d fostered Noriko’s love of dance, who’d encouraged her to pursue it as a career when her father wanted her to work for his company. She owed so much of who she was and what she’d accomplished to her grandmother, she only wished she was still alive to see just how far she’d come.

Getting out of bed, she headed into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of water, watching the sunrise from her window as she drank. Today was her company’s first rehearsal for their exhibition of Danse Macabre, so she was expecting to be in the studio all day everyday for the next several weeks. It suited her just fine. This way, she would have a legitimate excuse for not going to lunch with her parents. Yes, Father, the Company was putting on a new exhibition. Yes, she would be busy with rehearsals for a while. No, she would never purposely ditch their lunches, especially not after last time. 

Carelessly throwing the empty cup in the sink, she packed her dance bag and left, looking forward to the ten minute walk to the studio to clear her head. Had it really only been three days since that awful lunch? Since she found out that she’d run out of time? She always knew she’d have to make a decision, but she thought she’d have a few more years and now, with one stupid introduction, her father had thrown down the gauntlet.

Noriko had been raised with the knowledge that when she grew up, she would one day have to quit dancing to get married and have children. As a child, she barely understood what that meant, and adulthood seemed so far away. Now, a mere month away from turning thirty, she felt the walls closing in on her. 

There’d been a new face at the table during their last lunch. And while Noriko’s father had introduced him as a new business associate, she knew better. He was there as a potential suitor. It was her father’s way of saying she was getting older without having to actually say it. God, it was so infuriating! She didn’t need a husband to support her, she’d been supporting herself since she was twenty-one and had gotten a salaried job as soon as she graduated from dance academy. She didn’t want to be married, she didn’t want children, but according to her traditionalist father every productive member of society should be married. To remain single was to be a failure, in his eyes, especially as a woman. 

And it wasn’t like this was the way most people thought in Japan, especially Tokyo. Less and less people were getting married every year; it wasn’t so strange for a woman in her thirties to be unmarried, especially if she had her own career. Things were changing, just not fast enough. 

Of course, outright defying her father was always an option, but it was her least preferred one. Noriko lover her family dearly, and she knew if she told her father the truth about her wishes he would be furious. She didn’t want to think he would cut her out of his life so easily, but she wasn’t entirely sure. And her mother, her poor, lovely mother who’d once been vibrant and full of life had been so worn down by her marriage to such a willful man that she became an extension of him, slowly losing her own identity over the years. She’d be damned if that would happen to her.

So, no. She would not be marrying whatever-his-name-was who’d come to lunch. With any luck, she’d buy herself some time by pretending to be interested in the men her father would no doubt be introducing her to regularly from now on. Good thing she’d never told him she was a lesbian. He would still expect her to marry a man, he would just be far less likely to allow her to waste time trying to decide who she wanted to marry, and just make the choice for her.

Stepping into the studio, Noriko took a deep, calming breath. There was a strict rule of ‘leave your problems at the door’ which she always tried to adhere to, with varying amounts of success. But in her opinion, there was no better stress relief than dancing until you bled.

As she walked past the reception desk, she noticed a figure sitting in the waiting area. Taking a closer look, because what kind of maniac would be visiting a dance studio this early in the morning, she knew something about the man seemed familiar. “Can I help you?” She asked, curious. The man stood up quickly, practically tripping over himself. In his hand was a single long-stemmed rose.

“Good morning, Noriko. I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I didn’t want to wait a whole week to see you again. I didn’t know your schedule, but your father said you usually come here around this time.” He held out the rose and she took it reluctantly, not wanting to be rude. Great. What’s-his-name from lunch the other day was stalking her.

“I appreciate the thought, but I have a very busy day today and I’m going to be late if I don’t go now. Thank you for the flower.” Bowing her head slightly, Noriko turned to go, but her wrist was grabbed in a tight hold.

“Wait, just hold on a second. I just want to talk to you for a moment. I enjoyed getting to know you the other day, and I’d like to see you again.” Getting to know her. Right. She’d barely said two words at lunch, letting her father and this joker talk amongst themselves. Of course he liked spending time in her company, all she’d done was smile at whatever he said. It was an easy response when you weren’t paying attention to the conversation.

“Thank you for thinking of me, but unfortunately I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship at this time. I’m sorry you came all the way here.” It grated on her to apologize when she’d done nothing wrong, but she wanted to keep things civil and polite since he worked with her father. Twisting her wrist, she pulled it roughly from his grip and turned her back on him, making it clear the conversation was over.

“If you weren’t interested in me, why did you lead me on all afternoon?” His voice was sharp and ugly, but she ignored it. Engaging further wouldn’t get either of them anywhere, and she didn’t care enough about the situation to argue. “Hey, bitch, I’m talking to you!” Rolling her eyes, she turned to face him.

“Listen. I don’t even remember your name. So, whatever you think is going to happen between us, let me be clear: I am not interested in you. I will never be interested in you. So why don’t you just leave before I make you regret coming here?” She was bluffing, of course. She didn’t actually know how to fight, but in her experience, the threat of violence was effective enough. 

Not in this case. Scowling, he grabbed her arm roughly and squeezed. A small shiver of fear ran down her spine, but she wasn’t about to back down. If he thought he could bully her or force her into submission, he would soon find out how wrong he was. She was a ballet dancer- pain didn’t phase her and if he tried to beat the shit out of her, she would not make it easy for him. “You listen to me, you frigid bitch,” he snarled. “If anyone is going to regret coming here today, it’s going to be you.”

Clenching her hands into fists, she suddenly found herself standing behind a tall woman with short dark hair. The man was holding onto the other woman’s arm and she realized she was standing outside of her own body. This woman, although Noriko could see what she really looked like, was actually in _her_ body. This woman must be in her cluster! She was being Visited! “Call me bitch one more time,” the woman’s dark, husky voice seethed before she pulled back her free hand and punched him in the face. 

He reeled back, clutching his gushing nose and crying out in pain. The woman in Noriko’s body slowly stalked towards him, reminding her of a panther toying with it’s meal. Eyes wide in pain and fear, what’s-his-name ran around to the other side of the reception desk and out the door, not daring to look back. Noriko and the woman watched him through the large window behind the desk, stumbling and tripping down the empty street. He was going to have an interesting conversation with her father when he showed up for work with a bloody nose.

“Talk about being a bitch,” the woman remarked, turning to face Noriko for the first time. _Woah._ Standing in front of her was a goddess, tall and powerful with wide eyes the color of sea glass, her cocky smirk doing things to Noriko’s insides. “I guess being a sensate is not all bad if I get to beat up on assholes all around the world. Where are we, anyway?”

“Tokyo.”

The woman nodded to herself. “First Cairo, now Tokyo. I guess I was a little hasty in my judgement of this whole connection situation.” She gave Noriko a heated once over. “Especially if there are women like you at the other end. But I can’t stay. I’ve got a thing I gotta take care of at home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Kyiv. Maybe I’ll show you around sometime.” With a smirk and another once over, the woman was gone, vanished as abruptly as she’d arrived.

***

Noriko danced like a thing possessed. She was inspired, invigorated after the mysterious woman’s Visit. As if from a distance, she could faintly hear the choreographer yelling at her to control her movements, but she couldn’t. She pirouetted wildly, letting her feelings dictate how she moved, for once not holding herself back. Strands of hair flew into her face, her bun falling out of place from the force of her spins. _This_ was dancing, this was how her grandmother always wanted her to feel, as though she was capable of anything, that nothing and no one could tame her.

At the end of rehearsals, even the frustrated choreographer’s threats to kick her out of the production if she didn’t get her act together couldn’t bring her mood down. The walk back to her apartment felt like she was floating through the clouds, and when she finally got home and threw her gear in a corner, she knew what she had to do. Taking a seat on her small sofa, Noriko closed her eyes and focused only on the woman she’d met; her eyes, her smile, her strength. She wanted, _needed_ to see her again. Clearing her mind, she searched for that place deep inside of herself where she’d felt the woman and just… let herself go.

The quiet of her apartment was immediately drowned out by the sounds of traffic and a familiar voice yelling “Woah, shit!” The car came to a screeching halt in front of a run down block of apartments and Noriko grinned. She did it.She wasn’t in Tokyo anymore. Turning to look at the driver, she saw the familiar, striking face of the woman she’d met earlier. She was gripping the steering wheel tightly and staring out the windshield. “That… was awful. God, this was fucking karma. Now I’m gonna have to apologize to Joe. Dammit.” Pushing her hair out of her face, the woman looked at Noriko and smiled. “We meet again, Tokyo. What brings you to Kyiv?”

“You.” She could be nothing but honest. The way this woman made her feel was unlike anything she’d ever experienced and she couldn’t bare the thought of hiding it. She felt like she’d forgotten who she was, over years of trying to please a strict father and trying to be a perfect dancer and trying to be what everyone wanted her to be. She’d lost herself and her passion, and in one fateful instant she’d gotten it all back, all because seeing this woman, feeling their beings connect, had opened up something inside of her she didn’t even know she had.

The woman stared at her, caught off guard by Noriko’s simple honesty. “Oh.” She seemed like she might deflect, make some joke to diffuse to intensity of the moment, but she didn’t. Instead, she met her gaze seriously, studying her. “I’m Andy.” She offered softly, reaching out to touch Noriko’s hand. As she did, as their hands met, they both seemed to realize that neither one of them would ever be the same again.

“Quynh.” The name felt right. How could she pretend to be calm, serious, rule-abiding Noriko when she was so clearly wild, sharp-edged, blossoming Quynh?

“Nice to meet you, Quynh,” Andy said softly. A second later she smiled viciously, reaching into the backseat and pulling out a baseball bat, setting it in her lap. “You wanna come with me while I beat the shit out of my sister’s asshole ex-husband?”

Quynh smiled like a feral thing, all teeth and savagery. “Absolutely.”


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was feeling pretty crappy the other day and I wanted to write a happy, lighthearted little interlude to make myself feel better. How that turned into the longest chapter yet, I do not know, but that's what happened. I'm very sorry.
> 
> As always, I love and appreciate every single comment and kudo I get, and just know that if I haven't responded to your wonderful comments yet, I will get to them very soon!
> 
> Also, I was thinking of making a playlist for this fic on spotify- would anyone be interested in that sort of thing?

**Booker- Paris, France**

Okay, Booker had to admit. He was having a _great fucking time_. After Lykon’s insistence that no, they absolutely didn’t need to visit the Sewer Museum, (“If I wanted an up close look at the inside of a sewer, we could just go back to your place.” “But-“ “No, Booker.” “History!” “No.”) the rest of their Paris trip had been surprisingly fun. Booker had decided to bring him to his favorite boulangerie, where’d he’d finally been able to try authentic French macarons. Because yes, there was definitely a difference between those and the kind Lykon apparently sometimes treated himself to from Walmart, the heathen. And how could anything purchased from Walmart be considered a special treat anyway?

“Oh my God,” he moaned, mouth full of heavenly cookie and clearly not giving one single fuck, “this is the best thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of putting in my mouth.” Booker almost choked on his own saliva, holding back the many, _many_ responses that he desperately wanted to voice, if only for the pleasure of seeing Lykon flustered. The man was so put together and seemingly unflappable that it was secretly thrilling and endearing to realize he had no clue how to take a compliment. He had to constantly stop himself from giving out random little praises, afraid of pushing the other man away. It was one thing to flirt outrageously; it was possible to shrug it off as just a joke if Lykon became uncomfortable, but genuine compliments? Those were harder to pass off and the last thing he wanted was to alienate the first person to show him an ounce of kindness in the past three years. Longer probably. And yes, he was aware that he was possibly too attached already, but was it even possible to be too attached to a person who was in his head? 

Lykon squinted suspiciously at him, mentally going over the words that had just come out of his mouth and rolled his eyes. “What are we, five? Are we still amused by unintentional sex jokes?”

“One can never be too old for unintentional sex jokes, especially not when the one making the joke looks like Adonis in the flesh.” He ended the sentence with an overexaggerated leer. Lykon pursed his lips and gave him a flat look that Booker had already seen many times and secretly adored. His face said he was annoyed, but his eyes practically shouted his amusement. God, he just wanted to shower this man in gifts and baked goods, and he would have if he had any money to spare on such things. As it was, his funds were running dangerously low, low enough that even this small outing meant he would have to skip a meal at some point in the near future, but it was worth it to see Lykon’s obvious enjoyment.

Booker was quickly realizing there was very little he wouldn’t do for this man. It should have scared him, and in any other situation it probably would have, but he was _in his head._ How could such a connection be frightening? How could he not feel so strongly about someone who had made himself a home in Booker’s soul? He could feel him there, if he searched inside himself. He could feel the others too, faint, blurred shadows of emotions and intangible wisps of thoughts. Part of him was eager to meet them all, but another larger part hoped he never would. How could he possibly be worthy of them all? He already knew he could never be worthy of Lykon, that much was clear. The man was a doctor, for fuck’s sake, in a clinic which served lower income patients. He was helping the most vulnerable people, making a pittance of what he could be earning in a regular hospital, but he truly wanted to make a difference in these people’s lives. As someone who had been selfish much of his life, Booker was in awe of how good the man was. He could feel that goodness, like a golden beacon warming him from the inside out.

Savoring the last bite of macaron, Lykon licked his lips and Booker had to look away. The man had no clue how fucking sexy he was, which was as endearing as it was frustrating. “Where to next?” He asked, excitement clear in the way he practically vibrated out of his seat.

“Hmmm,” Booker racked his brain for places that Lykon might enjoy. Perhaps, if he had a good enough time, he might consider making regular Visits. Of course, he could always Visit Lykon in his own city, and he planned to, but he didn’t want to turn into an imposition on the man’s life. He didn’t want to be like one of those houseguests who didn’t get the hint that they should just leave, that their presence was no longer wanted. He was intimately familiar with that feeling in his own family, even before his arrest and the divorce. “How do you feel about modern art?”

******

Walking up to what would have been an otherwise unassuming building, were it not for what looked like a pair of giant greenish breasts situated over the awning, Booker wondered if there was any way he could possibly go back to his past self and give him a good slap. What the fuck had he been thinking, bringing Lykon to 59 Rue de Rivoli? Yes, it was a great place and yes, despite knowing nothing about art he loved walking through the space, but it could be kind of weird and what if the other man got bored and never wanted to come back? No, better to bring him somewhere else, maybe somewhere that wouldn’t possibly scare away the most fascinating person he’d ever met, for fuck’s sake.

“Huh.” Lykon stared up at the breasts, puzzled, and cocked his head to the side. God, he was like a puppy. How was he supposed to deal with that?

“The last time I was here, there were big blue people up there. They’re always changing what they exhibit.”

“Well, it certainly looks interesting.” The other man sounded skeptical and Booker jumped on it.

“We don’t have to go in, you know. We can go somewhere else if you’re not into it.” As he spoke, he was already walking away, heading towards the Metro. Maybe he could take him to that little hidden vineyard in the Butte Bergeyre?

“No, no, no! I want to go in, I do, I just,” Lykon hesitated, looking at the building then looking at Booker again. He seemed to be having some kind of internal debate before he sighed in defeat and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t really know anything about art.” He mumbled, looking down at the pavement. Booker waited for the rest of the explanation, but nothing came.

“So?” Lykon glared at him, as if he were being purposely obtuse.

“So, it’s embarrassing, okay? You’re over there with your stupid hair and French-ness and you probably know shit about like, brushstrokes or like, the relevance of the color red in cubism or some shit, I don’t know.” Booker truly, honestly did not mean to laugh, it just sort of burst out of him, more surprise than anything. Was this man serious? He was actually feeling insecure? Him? The one who’d actually gone to university, who became a doctor, who was so devoted to helping people that he worked six days a week? He was feeling insecure next to Booker, a man who had barely graduated high school, who had become a thief and a forger rather than attend uni, who had managed to ruin every relationship he’d ever had, who had been in prison up until a month ago? But judging by Lykon’s face, his laughter had not been well received at all, and God, why was he such a fucking asshole even when he wasn’t trying to be?

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you-“

“Coulda fooled me,” Lykon muttered angrily, but Booker saw right through it. Hell, he felt it- an ache inside of him that spoke of a deeper self-doubt.

“No, look. I didn’t mean to laugh, it’s just… I know fuck all about art. I was married to an artist, for fuck’s sake, and I still never managed to learn shit about it. I wasn’t laughing at you, I was just surprised, to be honest.” The other man didn’t look entirely convinced at his explanation. Needing to make this right, to not utterly fuck up something so new and so _good_ , he put his hands on Lykon’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “This is the whole truth. I was nervous to bring you here, maybe that’s why I reacted badly. I love this place, it’s special to me and I’m worried you won’t like it or you’ll get bored and,” _tell him the truth, tell him you’re scared he won’t like you anymore, that he’ll abandon you like everyone else,_ “I don’t want to ruin your first time in Paris.” _Liar. Pathetic liar._ Lykon watched him for a moment, and Booker prayed he wouldn’t catch the lie.

“Okay. So, what exactly is this place?”

“Well, it’s like an art gallery but the artists live here. They’re technically squatters, actually, but it’s legal and their work is on display throughout the building. Including the building itself; the walls, the stairs, everything is art.”

“Oh, that sounds a lot like the Phun Phactory!” Lykon enthused, eager to share his own knowledge.

“The what?”

“It’s this building in Queens, the largest outdoor graffiti museum, and all over the walls and doors is some amazing graffiti art. You used to be able to go inside and apparently the inside was all full of graffiti art too. It’s pretty cool, I used to pass it on the train when I was in med school.” He was powerless in the face of this man’s enthusiasm. How could he think Lykon would be bored; he so clearly loved new experiences and seeing new things. His stupid insecurities were doing this man a grave disservice.

“Yeah, it’s a lot like that.” They smiled at each other for a long moment before Lykon turned to the gold painted door.

“Shall we?”

**Lykon- Paris, France**

Was it weird that he wanted to hold Booker’s hand? Yeah, it was weird. After all, it wasn’t like they were on a date or anything. Nope. Nothing date-like about two people walking through an art gallery together, talking and laughing- though not at the art, weird as some of it was. Regardless of whether he liked a piece or not, Booker never made fun of any of it. He’d said it was because he respected the artists too much, but Lykon had a feeling it was more than that; that he respected not only the artist but also the courage it took to create something and put it on display, the utter vulnerability of knowing thousands of people would see a piece of you and would judge it. It was easy to sometimes forget that, whatever the medium, art was always imbued with fragments of the artists themselves and judging someone’s work was like judging a part of who they were.

As they walked through the space, they came across a small piano tucked away in a corner. Of course, being part of the gallery, it was painted on. A cat and some flowers on the bottom, some birds, and a large gorilla’s head above the keys. Booker gasped softly and made a beeline for it, running his fingers lightly over the keys.

“Oh, I forgot about this,” he sighed, pressing down on a few keys. 

“You play?” Booker shrugged.

“Eh. Just for fun. I never had any formal training or anything like that.” Oh, he wanted to play that piano so bad, Lykon could tell. 

“Go ahead, play something.” He leaned down close to Booker, who had already sat down on the piano bench. “Impress me.”

“If the gentleman insists.” He replied graciously, bowing as low as he could in the seat. Snorting a laugh, Lykon leaned back against the side of the piano, preparing to be, what, mediocre-ed? Was that a word?

Playing a quick little melody to warm up, Booker cleared his throat and rested his hands lightly on the keys, taking a quick breath before beginning to play.

“Stacks on deck, Patron on ice  
We can pop bottles all night  
Baby you can have whatever you like  
Said you can have whatever you like, yeah,”

What. The actual. Fuck. Okay, how the hell was he supposed to deal with this? He needed to take a minute and process the many and varied things going on in front of his face. Firstly, dude could _play_ , what the fuck. Secondly, holy shit, that voice. It was rough and raspy, but _so fucking good_ , and the feeling he poured into some stupid song about being a sugar daddy just elevated it into something, dare he even think it, romantic as fuck. Of course, being Booker, he kept looking up and ogling him exaggeratedly at every vaguely sexual reference, but there were moments, little pockets of time where the outside world seemed to fade away and Booker just lost himself in the feeling of the music and God, he was beautiful. 

When he finished, he looked up with a stupid grin and all Lykon wanted to do in that moment was kiss him and never stop. He wanted to run a finger down his sharp nose, wanted to kiss his eyelids and hug him and give him all the affection that no one had bothered to give him before. Instead, he said “Not bad. Though, of the two of us, I’m the one more likely to be poppin’ bottles. Your broke ass can barely afford Taco Bell.” He started singing No Scrubs jokingly and Booker immediately started playing the melody on the piano. “How. The hell. Do you just happen to know how to play No Scrubs?”

Booker shrugged. “In primary school we had a music room. The teacher let me play around with the piano when no one was using it, as long as I didn’t break anything. I figured out what keys made what sound and, I dunno, I just figured out how to play some songs.” Looking bashful, which was a look Lykon had never expected to see on the other man, Booker put more concentration into playing the song than he thought was really necessary. This meant something to him, he realized. Playing the piano was something he really loved doing, and Lykon’s heart broke just a bit for the little boy who was so clearly talented and could have grown up to be a famous musician had he been encouraged even just a little.

“Dude, that’s like, Elton John level piano playing.” Launching into a familiar melody, Booker began singing.

“But oh, how it feels so real  
Lying here, with no one near  
Only you, and you can hear me  
As I say softly, slowly,”

Abruptly Booker stopped playing, hands falling onto his lap as he winced. “It’s been a while since I’ve played, I’m out of practice, especially for Elton.”

“Um, I don’t think we were listening to the same music here because that? Sounded pretty damned perfect to me.” Booker looked down and smiled the tiniest, most adorable smile Lykon had ever seen and, oh no, was that a slight hint of redness on his cheeks? Lord Jesus, how was this happening? How could someone be simultaneously the most annoying person on earth and the most endearing? He was trying so hard not to get swept up in all these _feelings_ , because he wasn’t sure if it was just the sensate connection that made him feel so strongly for this man, or if he really just liked him that much. Having yet to meet another of his cluster, Lykon couldn’t be sure, and until he was sure he couldn’t allow himself to fall into anything so impulsively.

Sitting up in his seat, Booker looked up at him, smiling that soft, tiny smile before looking down at the piano keys, looking like he was debating something with himself. Stretching his fingers out exaggeratedly in front of him, he seemed to come to a decision. “Okay, let’s see if you know this one.”

He started playing a familiar tune and Lykon almost rolled his eyes before he took a good look at the other man. His brow was furrowed in concentration and he was staring at the keys like he was afraid to look up.

“We are the crowd  
We’re coming out  
Got my flash on, its true  
Need that picture of you  
It’s so magical  
We’d be so fantastico,”

Again, he changed the key and the tone of the song, the emotion in his voice turning it into something full of longing and heartache. The way his whole body moved as he played, the way his face scrunched up like he was in pain as he played, like everything he was feeling was too much to contain in his body, it all just grabbed something in Lykon and pulled him towards this man like a plane hurtling towards the ground.

Well, shit. He was so fucked.

**Joe- Cairo, Egypt**

Joe’s head bopped to the beat that started playing out of his crappy laptop speakers. Wow, he hadn’t heard Lady Gaga in _ages_. He was glad office hours were over for the day and that he’d had the foresight to close his door; he didn’t believe in the concept of guilty pleasures, but he also didn’t necessarily want to be known as the professor that sang along to Lady Gaga in his office at the end if the day. He was already one of the youngest professors in his department and maybe a bit too popular with the students to always be taken seriously by his older peers. It didn’t generally bother him, but their dismissiveness was always there, poking at him on the peripheral. As he typed up his notes for his next class, he found himself singing softly along, the words coming back to him like it hadn’t been at least five years since he’d last heard that song.

“Leather and jeans  
Garage glamorous  
Not sure what it means  
But this photo of us, it don’t have a price  
Ready for those flashing lights  
‘Cause you know that baby, I,”

As if summoned from the very air around him, Nicky was suddenly sitting on the edge of Joe’s desk, smile wide and open , impossible eyes seeming to cut straight through his outer layers and seeing right into the deepest parts of him. As Nicky sang with him, Joe felt the oddest sensation of being in two places at the same time. He was sitting at his desk in his office while simultaneously standing face to face with Nicky in his apartment. It almost felt like he was two different people, but even stranger, it didn’t feel like sensory overload. It felt normal, right, as if he was always supposed to be in two places at the same time and his mind was finally catching up. As if he was always supposed to be wherever Nicky was, no matter how many miles separated them.

“I’m your biggest fan  
I’ll follow you until you love me  
Papa-Paparazzi  
Baby there’s no other superstar  
You know that I’ll be  
Your Papa-Paparazzi,”

Nicky was a decent singer, but Joe himself knew he couldn’t hold a tune and they both giggled at how terrible he sounded, and oh, what Nicky’s laugh did to him! The heaviness in his eyes seemed to vanish and it was like the clouds parting and a full moon shining down on him; there was a melancholy cast to that light, yes, but it was all the more beautiful for being so bright and pure. 

“Promise I’ll be kind  
But I won’t stop until that boy is mine  
Baby, you’ll be famous  
Chase you down until you love me  
Papa-Paparazzi,”

Nile had no idea what made her start singing old school Lady Gaga, but now that she started she couldn’t stop. Singing at the top of her lungs, she pushed the vacuum around the room, moving it around like a particularly stiff dance partner, smile wide in her face and feeling lighter than she had in a long time.

As they sang, Joe grabbed Nicky’s hand and maneuvered him into an awkward spin, both laughing so hard they almost couldn’t sing. Leaning against each other, they swayed in time to the beat, laughter petering out but their smiles remained as they looked into each other’s eyes and just felt one another. Looking at him almost wonderingly, Nicky lifted a hand and ran his fingers lightly over Joe’s face, lingering on his lips. Before he could take his hand away, Joe clutched it in his own and gently kissed his fingertips, nuzzling into his palm and trailing feather-light kisses down to his wrist. Looking up through his lashes, Joe met Nicky’s eyes and continued kissing his way down the other man’s wrist, his forearm, slowly making his way up to the inside of his elbow. 

He was desperate for a taste of this man, as though he’d spent his life wandering the desert and here in front of him was a deep well of the purest water that he could easily drown in if he wasn’t careful. Joe was never one to hide how he felt, had often been accused of having zero chill, which was entirely correct. He hated dishonesty and games and, yes, had sometimes come on too strong, which had ended a few potential relationships. He’d thought himself in love before, but those feelings had clearly just been childish infatuations because _this_ , this was so much more than anything he’d ever felt. This man was in his mind and his heart and his whole being.

His tongue darted out as he kissed Nicky’s skin, stealing a taste of him. He closed his eyes, savoring the other man’s taste on his tongue when Nicky pulled his arm away and gently, ever so gently, he cupped Joe’s face in his hands and pressed their lips together in a kiss that felt like the first breath he’d ever taken, like the sun rising above the horizon in a show of light and warmth, like standing in the eye of a hurricane and knowing all the chaos couldn’t touch him because he was safe here, right here.

As they slowly pulled apart and rested their foreheads together, all Joe could think was _this, this, this_.

Andy couldn’t remember the last time she’d even hummed a song, much less sang the entirety of one, but there she was. Washing her dinner dishes to Paparazzi, which used to always annoy her when she heard it on the radio. Why she felt so happy singing it now was a fucking mystery.

“Real good, we dance in the studio  
Snap-snap, to that shit on the radio  
Don’t stop for anyone  
We’re plastic, but we still have fun,”

Quynh was supposed to be using the empty studio room to practice for the exhibition, but Lady Gaga was in her head and she felt so full of love and giddiness she just had to get it out. Humming along, she spun and twisted and swayed, moving around the room messily. Her instructors would be horrified to see her, but she didn’t care. There was a place for the rigidity and structure of ballet and right now was not it. She just needed to _move_. Ending her dance with a loose twirl, she dropped to the floor, lying on her back and laughing, just basking in the warm glow she felt from the sensate connection.

“I’m your biggest fan  
I’ll follow you until you love me  
Papa-Paparazzi  
Baby there’s no other superstar  
You know that I’ll be  
Your Papa-Paparazzi,”

Booker’s playing had attracted a small crowd, but neither man really noticed nor cared. The whole building could have gone up in flames and still, Lykon knew he would keep staring into Booker’s eyes as the other man sang and played his heart out, which was exactly what it felt like he was doing. Here he was, in front of all these people, using this song to hand himself over to Lykon, letting himself be seen and hoping he wouldn’t be judged unworthy. As if he ever could be. Lykon knew him, from the inside out; there was nothing that could ever make him unworthy.

“Promise I’ll be kind  
But I won’t stop until that boy is mine  
Baby, you’ll be famous  
Chase you down until you love me  
Papa-Paparazzi,”

He could stay like this forever, sharing Nicky’s breath, touching his skin, just getting to be near him was enough. The connection between them was incredible, to see and be seen by another and to feel what they felt, it was beyond intimacy. They had the capacity to know each other in ways that, a week ago, Joe could never have imagined.

As he felt their breaths synchronize, Nicky suddenly pulled away, eyes wide and panicked.

“I can’t do this,” he gasped, backing away. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Joe shook his head, confused.

“Wait, what? What do you mean? Nicky, what’s wrong?”

“No, I can’t.” He stopped, standing in place and staring at Joe with such loss and regret, emotions that Joe could feel, that nearly brought him to his knees with how much they _hurt_. “Please forgive me, but don’t follow me.” Terrified at the sudden turn everything had taken, _nononoNickydon’tgo_ , Joe reached out desperately, trying to grab the other half of his heart, but with one last look he disappeared, leaving Joe grasping at the air where he’d been.

“Nicky!”


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait! Life just kinda got in the way, but I hope this new chapter, the longest yet, will help you forgive me!
> 
> **Trigger Warning- implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced sexual abuse of a minor. Details are in the end notes, please read responsibly and take care of yourselves!**

**Joe- Cairo, Egypt**

He was everywhere, literally everywhere. Coming from the average human, that statement would have been understood as Joe being reminded of the man who had brought him to new heights of feeling he’d never imagined he could experience, before so abruptly pulling him back down to earth; but they would be wrong. Joe was not the average human, and if he were to tell anyone that he was seeing Nicky everywhere, he would mean exactly that. Because he did.

He saw Nicky’s face in his bathroom mirror as he washed his hands, which surprised the other man as well, if his wide-eyed stare was anything to go by, before he vanished between one blink and the next. He saw him standing in the kitchen, staring in confusion at Joe’s coffeemaker before seeming to realize where he was and disappearing. Taking a deep breath, Joe approached his coffeemaker warily, half expecting the other man to appear once again, but he didn’t. 

“Good morning, Professor!” Nagib’s chipper voice startled him as the boy bounded into the kitchen, filling the machine with water and coffee grounds before flicking it like it was second nature. Joe supposed at this point, it was. The boy was usually up before he was, making Joe his morning cup of coffee; or trying to anyway seeing as he never quite got it right, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and he wasn’t about to complain when Nagib made sure he didn’t have to stumble around the kitchen in the morning before he was fully awake. It made him uncomfortable, this boy he was hiding in his home doing all the chores Joe himself found tedious, but he knew what it was like to feel an obligation to someone, even if Joe had promised he didn’t expect anything in return for hiding him. “I’ll get started on breakfast, you just finish getting ready and it’ll be done before you know it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna take my coffee to go and head to school early. I have some work to catch up on.” He hated lying, but he just couldn’t stomach the thought of food, or conversation, at the moment. He’d never been good at hiding how he was feeling and the last thing he wanted was to field questions about the utter devastation he felt at Nicky’s absence. It was madness; he’d only known the other man existed for a week and yet, the thought of going on without ever seeing him again was agony. The worst part was, he knew Nicky felt the same because he felt it. He could feel the other man through their connection and he knew Nicky felt the same misery he was feeling. So why continue to push him away? Joe knew, had known since they first stood across from each other and raised their fists, that something weighed heavily on the other man. It was clear in every move he made, every faraway glance of those striking, melancholy eyes. His entire being _ached_ with it, and Joe ached for him and because of him and without him.

“Are you sure? I can make something quickly, it’s no trouble.” Nagib’s eyes were huge and pleading and concerned and all Joe could see were Nicky’s eyes just before he evaporated like morning dew under the summer sun.

“I’m sure,” he croaked out, managing a smile that he knew looked more like a pained grimace.

“Mr. al-Kaysani,” Nagib began hesitantly, “are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little… upset?”

“I’m fine, I just,” Joe began and stopped. What would be the harm in telling this kid a version of the truth? He didn’t wan to outright lie to him and, honestly, he kind of wanted to tell even one person how shitty he was feeling. What would be the harm? “Honestly? I was in something of a… long distance relationship until yesterday. They didn’t quite end things but.” He sighed. “It doesn’t look good. I’m giving them space. So, I’m sorry if I’m not quite myself.”

“I understand. I’m here if you want to talk about it. Or not talk about it. Whatever you need, I’m here.” Taking a deep breath, Nagib seemed to steel himself before continuing, “whoever they are, they’re an idiot to let you go. You deserve someone who truly appreciates you and won’t ask for space when you’re already far apart.”

Joe chuckled and shook his head. Ah, to be young again. To feel that confidence and surety in one’s opinions that came from too many ideas and too little experience. 

“Well, while I appreciate the sentiment, things are a bit more complicated than that. In any case, I do need to get to work so,” as he grabbed the travel mug sitting on the counter, Nagib snatched it out of his hands and began to pour the freshly brewed coffee into it, using his elbow to shoo Joe out of the room.

“I’ll prepare your coffee, you just worry about getting dressed.”

“I can make my own coffee-“ Joe insisted, hoping to convince the kid so he could put his preferred amount of sugar in it.

“No, I’ve got this. Now get out of here before I decide to leave out the sugar, just for being uncooperative.” Joe was almost tempted to tell him to leave out the sugar anyway, since he’d rather have it un-doctored than with the heaping amounts of sugar the boy usually put in it, but decided to hold his tongue. The last thing he wanted was to make Nagib feel like he’d done something wrong when he’d only been trying to help.

“Alright, alright.” Holding his hands out in defeat, he backed out of the kitchen and headed towards his bedroom. “I know when I’ve been overruled.” Closing the door to his room, he frowned to himself, once again wondering how best to handle Nagib’s situation. The boy couldn’t just stay with him indefinitely, eventually someone would come around asking questions. But where could he go? If he went back home, maybe his parents would forgive him if he denied kissing that boy, but was that even a better life than what he had right now? It was trading the prison of Joe’s home for the prison of pretending to be someone he wasn’t. What was the better option? Was someone working on getting him out of the city, or even the county? He was half tempted to call Rashida and talk things over with her, but he was still angry at her and wasn’t sure he could put that aside if he spoke to her now, especially not with everything else going on.

He dressed quickly and left, thanking Nagib for the coffee that he was probably going to take three sips of and dump at the earliest opportunity. He got in his car, catching a flash of blue-green eyes in his rearview mirror, and made the stressful, if uneventful, drive into work. He focused aggressively on being fully present at every moment, trying his hardest to think of anything but the one person he desperately wanted to think of. He’d been asked not to follow him, and he was doing his very best to respect that. He knew that the moment he allowed himself to think about what he wanted to think about, he would Visit. How could he not? The other half of his soul was in pain and all he wanted to do was pull him into his arms and shelter him from all the hurt of the world. 

Walking into his tiny shoebox of an office, he slumped down in his chair and listlessly stared at his desk. The day hadn’t even begun and he was already exhausted. All he wanted to do was get back into bed and stay under the covers until this aching, despairing emptiness went away.

A small hand lightly placed itself over his, and he looked up in surprise to see a woman smiling kindly at him. He couldn’t help returning the smile, feeling the care she felt for him seep into bones, warming him from the inside. She was absolutely beautiful, with warm brown eyes and an air of compassion so strong it practically poured out of her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, feeling her through their connection. She huffed a laugh and Joe suddenly found himself sitting on a squashy couch in a dark room illuminated only by a large television playing something at a very low volume. The woman next to him was curled up against the arm of the couch, comfy in a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt. “What’s your name?”

“Nile.”

“I’m Joe.” He looked around the room, amazed that while he could feel the cool air circulating Nile’s home, he was also aware of the stuffiness of his office and could still feel the wooden desk under his hands back in Cairo. “Where are we?”

“Chicago. South side.”

“Chicago?” Joe got up and walked around the room, impressed at the size of it. His entire apartment could probably fit in just the living room and kitchen. The space was cozy, warm and lived in and he could make out a number of what looked like family photos scattered on almost every surface. Everyone was smiling and laughing and Joe could feel the love that emanated from every corner of the home. “I’ve never been to America before.”

“Well, I wish I could give you a tour, show you some cool places around the city, but it’s like, one am and you do _not_ wanna go walking around South Side right now.” Sitting back down on the couch, Joe stared at the TV, not really seeing anything.

“That’s okay. I’m not sure I’d be great company right now anyway.” 

“I doubt that. Something tells me there is no possible situation that would make you anything but the best company.” She aimed that sweet smile at him again and he just melted. Putting his arm up on the back of the couch, Nile leaned into his side and they both watched the TV in silence for a few moments. Joe recognized the movie and it brought a smile to his face. Of all the movies Nile could have been watching, it was the one that brought back such wonderful memories of his childhood. _How to Steal a Million_ was still his go-to movie anytime he needed to be reminded of happier times.

“I love this movie. My mom used to have this on VHS. She taped it from TV and every time we watched it, we had to fast forward through the commercials, and the colors were fading because she watched it so often. She dreamed of going to Paris one day and visiting all the museums and,” he giggled at the memory, “she said we would go to the Louvre and spot all the forgeries because watching this so many times made us experts.” In his mind’s eye he could see the two of them, Joe wrapped up in his mother’s arms in front of the TV, the light floral scent of her perfume tickling his nose as they laughed at Audrey Hepburn crawling around the museum pretending to be a cleaning lady. He saw his father coming home in the middle of the movie, exhausted from working long hours on their olive farm, and sitting with them, laughing about how many times they’d watched the same old movie.

“They were amazing,” Nile said softly, tears shing in her eyes and Joe knew she had been right there with him in his memory, experiencing that moment as if she had been there too. 

“They were. Things weren’t perfect and we weren’t exactly flush with cash, but we were happy.” Smile fading, Joe swallowed down the familiar pain, sharp edges worn down with age. “They died when I was ten. Car accident. So ordinary. For years after it happened I was convinced they had been secret spies and the accident was just a cover up for murder, because it just didn’t make sense to me that something as pointless and random as a car crash could take them from me. Of course, later on I realized that life doesn’t always makes sense and pointless tragedies happen everyday.” He looked down at Nile, still huddled up against him and looked into her eyes. “That’s why we have to be mindful of the gifts we’re given and make sure not to waste them. We never know when our time on earth will be done, and we owe it to ourselves to make every possible moment mean something, even if that meaning only matters to us.”

“You sound like an optimistic nihilist,” Nile smirked. Joe cackled, throwing his head back in mirth. 

“Optimistic, sure. Nihilist, not so much. I have faith in Allah and I believe there’s a plan for all of us. What I don’t believe, is that we should be so focused on Paradise and what happens after we die that we forget to enjoy life, or that we should be so fixated on predestination that we stagnate and just let life happen to us. We’re all here for a reason, even if that reason is as simple as making someone smile, even if that someone is just yourself.”

“You have a beautiful way of looking at the world.” He shrugged.

“The world is beautiful. How else should I look at it?”

“I dunno,” she looked down, playing with the drawstring on her pants. “A lot of people see the world as cruel and unforgiving. Sometimes it’s hard to see the beauty of something when you’ve spent so long only seeing the ugly, rotten parts. All the behind the scenes stuff that no one wants to talk about. Cruelty, hatred, needless suffering. After you’ve seen all that, it gets harder and harder to find the good parts.”

“I know.” Bringing his arm around her shoulder, he pulled her in closer against his body, wrapping both arms around her. “Believe me, I know how difficult it can be. After my parents died, I had to leave our farm in Tunisia to stay with my only living relatives, my father’s brother and his wife who lived here in Cairo. They… made it very clear they didn’t appreciate having to take me in, and they reminded me of that every chance they got.” Deep in his memories he could almost feel the splinters digging into his skin from gripping the bedframe so tightly, he could smell the tang of leather as his uncle’s belt slithered through the loops of his pants, could hear the crack of the impact just before feeling the burning trail of pain run down his back. He felt Nile physically flinch from the potency of his memories and he kissed the top of her head in apology. There were many memories he would gladly share with her, but those he preferred to keep deep down in the shadows. The last thing he wanted was for Nile, who had already seen so much, to see all that too.

“You didn’t deserve that. No one does.” He heard the anger in her voice, anger for a child who had lost his entire world and had spent years of his life being punished for the inconvenience of his existence. “And even through all that you can still say the world is beautiful?”

“Of course! Think of the first time you read your favorite book or heard your favorite song, the way it made you feel, like someone had gone into your mind and pulled out all those thoughts and feelings that you yourself had no way of articulating and wrote them out, just for you. Is that not beautiful? Or what about the reverent hush that surrounds you when you walk through an exhibit in a museum? Or the sound the leaves on a tree make as the wind wafts through them.” His small smile faded and the ever-present ache in his chest grew as he stared ahead, losing himself in his memories. “Or how you felt the first time you locked eyes with someone and just _knew_ that the other half of your soul was standing right there, staring back at you?”

He didn’t realize he’d been lost in thought until Nile poked him, smiling sadly at the anguish he knew she could feel radiating from his entire being. “Why don’t you tell him that?”

“I can’t. He doesn’t want me to Visit him.”

“That might have been what he said, but I don’t think that’s what he wants.” Shifting positions to better look him in the eye, Nile took his hand and wrapped it in hers. “Sometimes we say we need space because we’re afraid of ourselves, afraid of our mess spilling into our loved ones’ lives. We don’t want them to see our ugly parts, so we push them away when we need them the most. Don’t let him push you away. We, especially, are not meant to be alone.” 

A knock on his office door brought him back to Cairo. Blinking a few times to reorient himself, he stood up and answered the door, while in the back of his mind he heard Audrey Hepburn and Peter O’Toole’s familiar lines. It brought a smile to his face, knowing he was still connected to Nile, even in this small way. She was right. They were not meant to, could not be, alone. And no matter what had happened in Nicky’s past, he was not alone, not anymore.

*********

Usually, the rhythmic pounding of gloves hitting the heavy bag was calming, but Nicky could not seem to focus long enough to find that calm. His punches were off center, his kicks were wildly uncontrolled and, in an embarrassing moment he would like to scrape from his memory, he literally tripped over his own feet.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Marco, his coach, was staring at him like he’d never seen him before, and Nicky fervently wished that the ground would somehow crack open and swallow him whole. How could he explain what had just happened? How could he possibly tell his coach _oh, sorry about that. You see, I just accidentally Visited the most beautiful man I’ve ever met and for the second I was there I saw him smile and lost complete control of my body_? Yes. Honesty was clearly the way to go.

“Sorry. I’m just not focused today.” Marco nodded understandingly.

“Oh, I see. Well, that’s fine then. You only have a very important fight coming up in a week, no big deal.” Nicky rolled his eyes and Marco raised his voice, “No, no, just keep doing what you’re doing. Keep thinking about whatever gorgeous woman it is that’s got you so tangled up in knots and fuck up this fight. That’s fine! See if she still wants to fuck you after she watches you get your ass handed to you by a twink nobody who you could’ve beaten in your sleep, but no! You were too busy daydreaming about the scent of her hair or some shit, to pay attention to your fucking training!”

“Are you done?” Nicky was used to his coach’s tangents by now, but that didn’t make them any less annoying or, in this case, uncomfortably close to the truth. To be fair to himself, Joe’s hair did smell _amazing._

“Yes.”

“Can I continue?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“Don’t be an asshole.” Marco raised his hands in defeat.

“Proceed.”

The rest of his training hour passed quickly, with no more stupid mistakes, and Nicky was more than ready to get in the showers by the end of it. Before he could make it to the locker rooms, Marco stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“How’s the rib?” He asked, pressing into the spot none too gently. Nicky hissed and swatted his hand away roughly, rubbing the aching area lightly.

“It’ll be fine for the fight.”

“Good.” Marco stared at him for a long moment. “Look, I know you have your whole strong, silent thing going on, and I’ve never pried because your life is none of my business but… I’ve never seen you so distracted before, especially not before a fight. Is everything okay?”

Was everything okay? No. And it never would be again because the one thing he wanted more than anything was no longer the same thing he wanted a week ago. Before Joe. Was that how he was going to measure his life from now on? Before Joe and After Joe? It seemed appropriate. Before Joe, the only thing he wanted was to get his hands on the bastard that had ruined so many lives and make him pay. Now, After Joe, all he wanted was to see the other man. To feel his skin under his hands, to breath his air, to listen to him speak. One week of knowing Joe existed in the world and he just forgot all about the promise he’d made to himself, to somehow find justice for those who’d been hurt because of him.

“Yes, everything’s fine.”

Marco eyed him, not quite believing his bullshit, but unwilling to press for more information. Not wanting to be interrogated more, Nicky turned around and walked to the locker room, heading straight for the showers. He turned the water on and stripped, throwing his sweaty clothes in his gym bag before stepping under the warm spray and closing his eyes.

Thirteen hundred miles away, Joe was in the middle of a lecture in his last class of the day, when he was confronted by a sight that stopped him in his tracks. Nicky stood in the back of the class, dripping wet and completely naked. They stared at each other a moment, both shocked at what they were seeing. Even from across the room Joe’s eyes zeroed in on a drop of water making it’s way down the other man’s pecs, through his sharply defined abdominal muscles and down, down through the trail of hair that lead to-

Swiftly bringing his eyes back up to Nicky’s face, Joe drank in the sight of the other man. He was exquisite, striking even under the weight of sorrow he always carried with him. Keeping their eyes locked, he started to speak.

“I held back my love’s name and  
kept on repeating it to myself.  
Oh how I long  
for an empty space  
to call out the name I love.”

He poured every ounce of longing and hurt and love he felt into those words, written so long ago and still as powerful now as they were then. He was staring into Nicky’s eyes as he spoke and saw the other man’s eyes shine with unshed tears before he disappeared back into his body. Surreptitiously wiping his own damp eyes, he pulled his attention back to his students and forced a smile. 

“That was an example of Ulayya bint al-Mahdi, an Abbasid princess who was, among other things, a famous poet. Who can give me another example of her work?”

Nicky practically threw himself out of the shower, hurriedly pulling on his clothes without bothering to dry himself. He found himself standing in his apartment, with no memory of how he’d made the two mile trek from the gym or how long he’d been standing there before coming back to awareness. Tossing his gym bag away somewhere, he crawled into a corner of the room and sat there, legs curled up into his chest, and tried to hold back the tears he was so close to shedding. He could feel himself shaking with the effort and he curled his hands into fists to try and calm his body down, but it was no use. He could feel himself shaking apart and he knew he was hurtling towards a very big, very messy breakdown.

Soft hands gently covered his fists and squeezed, lifting them up to meet a pair of unforgettable lips.

“Nicky, Nicky, please,” Joe’s voice was thick with tears and Nicky felt even worse for having caused this brilliant, amazing, _good_ man even an iota of pain. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I feel your pain and it echoes in my own heart. What can I do? Please talk to me, Nicky.” Joe let go of his hands and wrapped his arms around him, resting his cheek on Nicky’s head, and he felt little drops of wetness fall into his hair.

“I told you not to follow me.” He murmured, trying his hardest not to just fall into Joe’s arms and forget everything else. It would be so easy, too easy, to let himself have this, but he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve this man, would never be worthy of him, no matter how much he wished he could be.

“You did, and I respected your wishes, but I can’t just leave you alone like this. I won’t. We’re not meant to be alone, Nicky.” Cupping the sides of his head in his hands, Joe tenderly lifted Nicky’s head from between his knees, bringing their foreheads together. “Even if you never want to see me again after today, please let me help you. No matter what happens, I just need to know you’re okay.” Nicky shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.”

“I know you feel guilty. But whatever it is you did, that doesn’t matter. You’re a good person and you deserve good things.” He hated seeing Nicky like this, quaking with the effort of holding back sobs. 

“No, I’m not. I’m not a good person. You don’t know-“

“I do.” Running his hands soothingly through Nicky’s hair, Joe lightly kissed the top of his head before bringing their foreheads together again. “I know bad people, trust me. And you want to know what all of them have in common? They don’t wonder if they’re bad people or not. They don’t care. You do, and that tells me all I need to know. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done in the past. It’s over. You need to let it go.”

“I need to suffer for what I did. What I didn’t do, what I ignored until it was too late. I deserve to suffer.”

“Some people deserve to suffer,” Joe nodded. “And sometimes our suffering can serve a purpose, but sometimes,” he grabbed Nicky’s face in his hands and made the other man look at him, “sometimes suffering is just suffering. It serves nothing, it doesn’t make you a better or a worse person; sometimes it just _is_.”

Joe held him as he finally broke down and sobbed, crying and screaming his grief and rage, clawing at Joe’s back. He held him through that outpouring of violence, tears streaming down his face in his own grief; grief for the man who had never allowed himself to let go of everything pent up inside of him. When his body finally slumped in exhaustion, Joe pulled him to his feet and helped him into bed, slotting himself between Nicky’s back and the wall, wrapping an arm around his waist. They lay there in silence, just breathing together, until finally Nicky spoke.

“I used to be a teacher,” he stated, voice faint and scratchy. “Back in Genova. Second grade. Seven-year-olds. They could be little monsters sometimes, but I loved it. And them. All of them. It was a Catholic school, run by the diocese, and some of the teachers were nuns and priests. I wasn’t a priest, but I was very active in the church and all the parents and parishioners knew me. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a good life. I wasn’t out, I couldn’t be. As a teacher in a Catholic school?” He snorted derisively. “Not an option. I never believed there was anything wrong with me, but I knew many other people thought the opposite.” 

Nicky paused to take a deep breath and Joe moved his hand to link their fingers together, squeezing gently in support.

“There was a priest at the school, another teacher, and our relationship became… a bit more than friendly. Nothing ever happened between us, but we both knew the attraction was there. He was the one who told me I was being paranoid, when I first had concerns about Father Giovanni. I started to notice that some of the little boys who came back from his office would be… withdrawn. At first I thought it was because they had just been disciplined. Father Giovanni was in charge of the school and was notoriously strict. But, more and more I noticed that it was always the same boys who looked like that, and none of the other children who visited his office. I should have gone to Father Giovanni directly, but I was a coward. Instead, I kept talking about it with Tony.”

“Your priest friend?” Joe asked quietly, breath tickling the back of his neck.

“Yes. He kept saying over, and over, I was just being paranoid, seeing things that weren’t there. But I knew. In my gut, I knew.” 

He closed his eyes tightly, desperately trying not to relive that day in his mind. He knew Joe would be able to share in his memories and he couldn’t allow the other man to see what he had seen.

“After months of being suspicious, I finally decided to go into his office while he was speaking to one of the boys, and-“ He swallowed, tasting bile at the back of his throat. It still made him sick to think about. “He was sitting in his chair, and the boy-“ Nicky remembered Ana, the secretary, yelling at him that he wasn’t allowed in the room, her small hands trying to hold him back before he slammed open the door. And for a horrified moment, all he heard was a loud ringing in his ears. “The little boy ran out of the room and I… I just lost control. I don’t even remember doing it, but I remember three people pulling me away from the room. Father Giovanni was lying on the floor, covered in blood and there was blood all over my hands and my clothes.” He could smell the metallic tang, could taste it on his tongue and he remembered running into the restroom and throwing up in the nearest toilet.

He felt tears rolling down his cheeks once more and was surprised he even had any water left in him after his earlier breakdown. Joe pulled him in even closer to his body, and Nicky could feel the wetness of Joe’s own tears running down the back of his neck.

“I almost killed him. If they hadn’t pulled me off him, I would have. Of course, I was fired immediately, but that wasn’t the end. I told Tony that I wanted to go public and get Father Giovanni arrested, but he told me to wait and trust in the church to handle it. And they did. Instead of telling people what actually happened, to save face they outed me. They said I attacked Father Giovanni because he rejected my advances. That I tried to force myself on him.” He could barely speak through the fury and helplessness he still felt, but he pushed on. He’d gotten through the hard part, there was only the aftermath left. “Everyone believed the story. They even had Tony speak as a witness. Father Giovanni didn’t press charges, and I was never even arrested. When I tried to fight against the accusations, they excommunicated me. I can be allowed back into the church, but only if I confess and ask for forgiveness for what I’ve done. I will go to my grave only regretting that I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.” 

Realizing he had been crushing Joe’s hand in his grip, he let go but Joe held on, the tendons in his hand tight with his own rage.

“I still wanted to tell the truth about what happened, who Father Giovanni really was, but when I tried, the church told me that if I tried to take any action against him, they would have the boys say it was me who had done those things. With everyone already against me, that would have been a death sentence. The parents, the parishioners, they would have killed me before I ever went to trial. So I stopped. They won. Father Giovanni won. They quietly transferred him to another parish where no one knows him, and he’s probably still hurting children. Most days I hope someone else caught him and did what I couldn’t do.”

“What about your family?”

“They believed everything. My parents already had their suspicions about me, apparently, and of course being gay means I also must be a rapist so. I haven’t spoken to them since the day I left.” He could still see it, the glossy dark wood of his parent’s front door, slamming shut at the very sight of him. “I tried calling them once, but,” he shrugged one shoulder, “they hung up on me.”

And there it was. The whole, awful truth.

“Nicky,” Joe began hesitantly, “you must know that what happened wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could. It was an impossible situation.”

“No. Those children were in an impossible situation. I took the coward’s way out. I put my life above theirs and I will never be rid of that guilt. Every night I go to sleep imagining how many more children that monster hurt because I let myself be silenced. I should have come forward, those kids needed me to come forward and I let them all down.”  
Joe held him tight as his words turned into garbled sobs, squeezing his own eyes shut to keep in his tears. How this amazing, compassionate man had suffered! His entire life ruined to keep one monster’s secret, and he was blaming himself for not giving up more? He hadn’t thought it possible to feel any more strongly for this man, yet here he was. Hearing Nicky’s deepest shame only served to make him feel even closer to the man, even more connected. He was sure there was nothing in the world that could make him feel anything but admiration and love for him. Because it was clear to Joe that he loved Nicky, had loved him probably since the moment their eyes met, his brain needing a little time to figure out what his heart had known from the very start.

As held the love of his life in his arms, listening as his sobs dwindled and turned into the deep, even breaths of sleep, Joe made a vow to himself, that he would never let this man go, even if he never loved Joe as Joe loved him. He would be by his side until Nicky’s dying day and he would follow him into the afterlife as well.

Nicky would never have to be alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe remembers being beaten with a belt as a child. It is described as a sense memory without any graphic details.
> 
> Nicky tells the story of why he left Genova, which includes an instance of a priest sexually abusing a child. The incident is not described in any detail, but it's very clear what's going on.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so sorry this took so long! Life has interrupted my usual posting schedule, and it's been hard to find the time to write. Also, I rewrote this chapter a bunch of times because I just couldn't seem to get it right! I'm not totally satisfied with it, but I can't spend another second editing. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much to everyone who has commented and kudoed! I appreciate all of you and I will respond to your comments very soon! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> **Trigger Warning! Domestic Abuse, Depression, Drinking to Cope. More details in the end notes**

**Andy- Kyiv, Ukraine**

Then

The bathroom door shook with every impact, and Andy knew it wouldn’t be long before the whole thing came off it’s hinges. She sat, wedged between the toilet and the bathtub, trying to slow her racing breaths. Her sweaty palms kept slipping on the wooden handle of the large kitchen knife, but she refused to take even one hand off to wipe the sweat, didn’t dare take the risk of being caught unprepared. She stared at the shaking door, not looking away for an instant, not even blinking. She wasn’t going to let herself be caught, not again. Never again.

Now

Slamming open the front door of the police station, Andy stomped inside, ignoring the way everyone’s hands went to their guns. Holding up a sheet of paper, she stared down every officer in the room.

“You see this?” She asked, waving the paper around. “This is what we, in the legal profession, call a Restraining Order. I know, that as glorified mercenaries for hire, you may not fully grasp the laws of this city, so I’ll explain them to you. When someone files one of these, it means the person it is filed against cannot be within five hundred yards of the filer. It means that it is your duty as police, or whatever you’re calling yourselves these days, to ensure that this is adhered to.” She slammed the paper down on the nearest officer’s desk, feeling a little thrill at the way he flinched and leaned slightly away from her. 

“So the next time someone calls you, reporting a violated restraining order, you better goddamned show up or I swear to fuck that I will smack you so hard with a lawsuit that your pathetic little balls will shrivel up so far into your bodies, you’ll be choking on your own dicks.”

Storming out of the station, she took several deep breaths, trying to calm the inferno of rage blazing inside her. Fucking dickless shits. Andy knew from experience, personal and professional, that the police in Kyiv, and Ukraine in general, tended to turn a blind eye to domestic violence. She’d seen it many times- women who filed restraining orders against their spouses or ex-spouses, coming into her office with black eyes or broken arms, crying tears of helpless rage as they described the police either standing around and doing nothing as the men in question beat the shit out of them, or just didn’t bother to show up at all. But that had been the restraining order her little sister had filed against her ex-husband, and he knew nothing would happen if he violated it and showed up at her apartment. He hadn’t been able to get in, luckily, but even though Aleks had called the police, no one had even showed up. The bastard ended up leaving after banging on her door for half an hour, and Aleks was only a little shaken when she’d called asking for legal advice, but Andy couldn’t just let that shit slide. Putting the fear of God into that creep had been fun, doubly so with Quynh by her side, smiling that sharp little smile.

“Fuck, I think my balls just shriveled up, too. You’re fucking scary.”

Jumping slightly in surprise, Andy took a few steps back and put up her fists before realizing the man standing in front of her was not actually there. He was Visiting; she could feel him in a way that went beyond physical, like an extra sense that she hadn’t been bothering to use until now. She’d felt the same thing when she first met Quynh, though with her there’d been the extra layer of attraction and an immediate sense of a different kind of connection than she’d felt with Joe or this new guy.

She eyed him up and down, taking in his faded jeans and ragged t-shirt. He looked fucking homeless.

“Are you homeless?” He seemed surprised, whether at the question or her bluntness, she couldn’t be sure, but who had time to beat around the bush? If he was homeless, she could help, if not then she didn’t have to spend the next ten minutes trying to figure out a way to ask without having to ask. Win-win.

“I have a place to live.” He chuckled suddenly, eyes going distant and fond with some pleasant memory. She could _feel_ him reminiscing, which seemed both invasive and awkward. In her mind she saw hazy images of a wide smile and dark eyes rolling affectionately. She heard the whisper of a name, _Lykon_ , and felt the warmth of the setting sun against her skin, smelled baking bread waft faintly through the air, could taste the rich, melt-in-your-mouth sweetness of almond macarons. It was like, Jesus, it was like stepping into someone’s actual memories.

“Lykon would probably say I’m paying an exorbitant amount of rent just to live like a squatter, but what does he know? He’s an upstanding doctor in New York City, whereas _I_ am a Parisian ex-con. I have a certain aesthetic I need to maintain. An image, if you will.”

“Who’s Lykon?” She asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it from him first. She’d heard that name in her head. _Before he said it._

“Oh, he’s one of us. You’ll meet him soon. I’m Booker, by the way. If you were wondering.” 

She raised an eyebrow judgmentally. “Booker? That sounds like a fake name.”

“It is.” He said simply, offering nothing more than an annoyingly smug smile. Well, if that was how he was going to be, then she could just find out his name on her own. Finding their connection in her mind, she felt around the fuzzy impression of the man in front of her, not going deep enough to be an invasion of privacy, but just enough to get a general sense of him. He’d been drinking; not enough to be drunk, but he was steadily making his way into drunken territory. She could feel that there was something dark and empty inside of him, something ravenous and all-consuming that demanded to be filled, that screamed and wailed and clawed at the walls of his mind. He could smile and laugh and play the part of the sarcastic asshole, but behind all that was a maelstrom of anguish and self-hatred and anger all turned inwards. She had to mentally back away before she got sucked in.

Jesus, how was _that_ the first thing she found in his mind? It was like she’d known exactly what to look for, known which shortcuts to take to find what he tried to hide. _What was it they said? Like seeks like?_ Of course she’d been drawn to the storm inside of him; it matched the one deep inside of her. As she stared at him, he stared back at her and she could see in his eyes that he saw her, the same way she could see him. That he saw how she tried to fill her own emptiness with sex and liquor and work, how she’d been living one day at a time for years now, just as he had. Neither one of them looked further to the future than waking up tomorrow morning and dragging themselves through another day.

Breaking the penetrating stare-down, Andy walked shakily towards her car. Fuck, looking into that darkness had brought up all the shit she tried so hard everyday to keep buried and she just could not deal with any of that right now.

“I need a fucking drink.” She said, hearing it echoed by the man standing behind her. Turning around and leaning against her car, she looked at Booker critically. On one hand, she could just head home by herself and finish that bottle of whiskey she’d opened the other day. She would get drunk, turn on the TV, and fall asleep on her couch, just as she had done many times before. On the other hand, here was someone who wouldn’t judge her for her drinking habits. Here was someone who would know not to ask questions or pry into her personal life. She could still drink herself to sleep, but maybe this time… maybe this time she didn’t have to be alone. “I have a bottle of whiskey at my place. You interested?”

“Only if it’s the cheap stuff.”

“What, like I’m gonna waste my money on the good stuff just to get drunk at three in the afternoon? That would be throwing my money in the toilet. Literally.”

Booker smirked. “You had me at ‘toilet’. Lead the way.”

Then

She still stared at the door, just waiting for fucking Pavlo to break the damn thing down. She was probably going to die there, in a tiny bathroom in a shitty apartment in goddamned Crimea, never even getting the chance to leave the city she’d grown up in. Well, fuck it. If she was gonna die, she would make damn sure to take him with her.  
“Andy!” The front door slammed shut and the blood in Andy’s veins froze as she recognized the voice that called out for her. 

For a moment everything was silent. It was loud; she’d never really understood when people described silence as being loud, but she got it now. Her ears rang and it almost felt like her eardrums were dilating, like they’d been trying to block out Pavlo slamming into the door and now that he stopped, they were opening up to pick out even the slightest sound.

“Andy!” 

Wiggling out of her hiding spot, Andy scrambled to the door. “Polya, get out!” God, the last thing she wanted was for her sister to get hurt trying to protect her. “I’m fine, just go home!” She didn’t know where Pavlo was, but she knew he wouldn’t stay hidden for long. He’d never liked her sisters, especially not Polya, who was the oldest and had never had any problem letting him know just how little she thought of him. 

“Fuck that.” Polya answered, right on the other side of the door. “Come on, Andy. Let me take you home.” Andy leaned her forehead on the door. It was tempting, God, was it tempting. She wanted to leave so badly, but fear always stopped her. Fear of what Pavlo would do if she left, how he might hurt her family. Fear of finally getting away, only to be dragged right back like she’d never left. God, she wouldn’t be able to take it if that happened. Having no hope of escape was better than letting herself hope and having that hope crushed. “Please,” Polya begged, voice thick with tears. “Please come home.”

Shaking, Andy unlocked the door and opened it a sliver. Her sister’s blue eyes stared back at her, pleading, and she opened the door the rest of the way. “Okay. Let’s go.” Peeking around both ends of the hallway, she wondered where Pavlo had gone. He’d been slamming on the door, about to beat her to death, and now he was, what? Asleep? What the fuck was he doing? Regardless, she wasn’t planning on sticking around to find out. Grabbing Polya’s hand, still keeping hold of the knife in her other hand, Andy led them down the narrow hall, past the tiny galley kitchen, and into the sparsely decorated living room. Pushing her sister in front of her, she rushed towards the front door. They were so close! They could make it, they were almost out!

She heard the heavy thump of his footfalls before she felt his meaty hand grab hold of her long ponytail and _pull_ , throwing her flat on her back on the floor. Gasping in pain at the impact, she curled into a ball, protecting her body as well as hiding the knife she’d managed to keep hold of. She heard a soft thud and Polya grunted in pain.  
“You think you can just leave me?” Pavlo boomed. “You don’t get to leave me!” A hard kick to the side sent Andy rolling across the floor, the knife digging into her arms. He followed her, aiming another brutal kick to her unprotected side. She felt a sickening crack, and knew she had at least one broken rib, but the pain hadn’t really hit her yet. Adrenalin coursed through her body and she kicked out wildly, connecting with something solid. Pavlo screamed and collapsed to the floor, giving Andy the chance to clamber to her feet unsteadily. From the corner of her eye she could see her sister standing up as well, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Her husband was lying on the floor, screaming, his leg bent at an unnatural angle at the knee. As Andy watched him writhing around on the floor, she realized how fucking small he looked. How weak. “You told me you loved me,” she ground out, tears spilling from her eyes. Tears for her sisters, who hadn’t seen her in nearly a year. Tears for her mama, who’d always hated Pavlo and had tried many times to keep them apart. And tears for herself, for all the time wasted on a man who only wanted someone he could control, for all the times she’d shamefully covered her bruises, for all the excuses she made for him, for letting him pull her away from her family until all she had in the world was him. 

Screaming out her rage and misery, she kicked him again, this time in his stomach, but it still wasn’t enough. She kicked him again, and again, needing to hurt him, to make him feel as helpless as she had for the past three years. Again, and again, her muscles cramping with the effort, but she had to keep going, it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. She could beat on him every second of the day for the rest of her life and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

“Andy, Andy,” her sister’s voice cut through the ringing in her ears, and she felt strong, comforting hands gently touching her shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s enough. We have to go.” Breathing heavily, Andy came back to herself slowly, feeling her body shaking. “It’s okay, Andy. It’s okay.” Wiping her eyes carelessly with the back of her wrist, she took a step back, and then another. She was alright, Polya was alright. She could do this, she could go, close the book on this part of her life and start all over on a brand new page.

“Let’s go,” she whispered brokenly, her throat sore and on fire from screaming. Her sister clutched her hand in hers and kissed it, tears falling down her bruised cheek. Polya nodded, smiling at her. Taking a step forward, Andy finally, finally, felt a small flutter of hope unfurl in her chest. She would be okay. She had her sisters and her mother, and she would figure things out. Everything was going to be okay.

Polya took a step forward, and Pavlo took that moment to reach out and grab her ankle, roughly pulling it out from under her. She fell forward, arms flying out in front of her to catch her fall, but not fast enough to stop her head from hitting the edge of the coffee table with a dull thump. 

For a heart-stopping moment, Andy thought her sister was dead. She looked it, body sprawled out on the floor, blood dripping steadily from the gash in her head. She wasn’t moving, didn’t even look like she was breathing, and all Andy could think was _please, please, please, don’t let her die._ Nothing, no other thought or person, existed until she heard Polya groan softly, trying to move her arms to push herself up. Andy was paralyzed, only able to stare at her sister as she sat up, alive. Jesus fucking Christ, she was still alive.

Now

“So, then I said that I would trade him the painting for the donkey, and that’s how I saved Christmas.”

Andy giggled into her drink, curled up on her couch across from Booker, both of them well into drunk territory. “But it was a fake.”

“Of course it was! Where the fuck am I gonna get a real Picasso in that time frame?” As soon as she put down her glass Booker picked it up, taking a hearty gulp.

“Are you implying you could have gotten a real Picasso if you had more time?” 

He shrugged innocently and she snorted a laugh. This guy was just too much. “So, if you didn’t get caught for that, what landed you in prison?” The smile fell from his face immediately, and Andy instantly regretted bringing it up. 

“Oh, well, that’s a whole different story.” He took a swig of whiskey, straight from the bottle, and looked at the ground for a long moment before answering. “My ex was complaining to her friends that I didn’t have a real job, so one of them set me up. He ratted me out to the cops and they caught me selling someone a fake passport.” He winced, running a hand through his greasy hair. “It wasn’t exactly my first arrest, so they hit me with the maximum three years.” He stared straight ahead, blue eyes wide and haunted. Andy could only imagine what prison had been like for him. From what she’d heard about French prisons, it must have been hell.

“I think you just need a good lawyer,” she smirked, pouring another glass of whiskey.

“I think what I need is a good, solid kick in the head.”

She shrugged. “I can provide that service, too.”

He smiled faintly. “And of course, the guy who sold me out has been dating my ex. Hanging around the house, taking my boys to football matches.” He laughed bitterly. “My own family can’t stand me because they feel like I abandoned them when I went to prison, not even realizing that my replacement is the guy who fucking put me there.”

“Wait, she doesn’t know?”

“Fuck, no. She divorced me to be with that guy, and she’s happy. He makes her happy, happier than I did.” He stared up at her with wide, miserable eyes. “What right do I have to ruin that?” A quiet tear trailed down his cheek and Andy pulled him in close, wanting nothing more than to take away his pain and regret. Of course, she knew it didn’t work that way. She couldn’t even take away her own regrets, how could she possibly help him with his?

But maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe it wasn’t always about solving the problem or making the pain go away. Maybe sometimes it was just about being there for another person, through all their messy emotions and coping mechanisms. She couldn’t fix Booker, hell, she couldn’t fix herself, but maybe she could show him that he wasn’t alone, that he wouldn’t have to carry this grief and self-hatred all by himself anymore. She would carry it with him. And maybe, maybe someday, she would let someone else help carry her baggage too.

Then

The relief nearly brought her to her knees. Taking in deep wheezing gasps of breath, Andy stared at her sister, still trying to process what had almost happened, what had nearly been taken from her. What Pavlo had nearly taken from her, yet another thing he would have stolen from her until she had nothing left, not even the knowledge that her loved ones were alive and well while she rotted in their squalid little shithole.

Her rage was overwhelming. Her vision had gone beyond red, beyond color at all, until all she could see and hear and smell was the piece of shit lying broken on the floor. But, God, he wasn’t broken enough. She’d gone so far beyond rage, beyond anything she’d ever felt before, that she was calm, almost zen-like. Squeezing the knife miraculously still in her hand, she slowly approached Pavlo, her steps more shuffles than actual footsteps. Standing over him, she almost couldn’t believe that she’d let him control her life for the past three years. That she’d been afraid of him, and afraid that if he didn’t love her, no one would. Fuck that. He didn’t love her, never had, and if no one else could ever love her, that was just fine. Relationships were always about control, even the ones that weren’t filled with violence. One person would always love more than the other, one person would always have more power over the other. Well. She was never going to let anyone control her again.

Lifting the knife above her head, she brought it down with all her strength, aiming for his thick, sweaty neck. He’d bruised her neck between his hands many times, now her hands would be the ones hurting him. Something stopped her arms from moving when she was just inches away, and she put her entire body weight into it, needing, needing so desperately to hurt him as he’d hurt her. She needed him to be afraid of _her_ now. 

“Andy, Andy! No, Andy, please!” A familiar voice, faint, poked through her tunnel vision. Was there someone else here with her? Did anything exist in the world but her and this knife and Pavlo? “Andy, if you kill him, he wins!” The voice was practically screaming in her ear, and if she could spare a thought for anything but getting this knife into that man, she would recognize it. “You will go to prison, Andy! You will be trapped for the rest of your life and he wins! Don’t do this!” Slowly, the knife was getting closer and closer to her target. She would do it, she had to do it. “Don’t do this to Mama! Think of little Aleks, she worships you! Think of me, Andy! I love you, _we_ love you!”

A face, a smiling little face, broke through her tunnel-vision. A happy face, with bright green eyes and a toothy smile, always happy to see her. Aleksandra. Her little sister Aleks. What would Aleks think if she saw her right now? Bloody and bruised and about to murder someone? And her Mama, she would be heartbroken, and Polya-

Polya was right next to her, holding her arms back from plunging a knife into a man who didn’t deserve to turn her into a murderer. The rest of the world slowly came back into focus, and she stepped back, away from Pavlo, away from what she had almost done. Poly grabbed the knife from her hands and crouched down near Pavlo’s face. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she lifted his head until he could look her in the eyes, and she held the tip of the knife to his throat.

“I’m taking my sister, and you’re never going to see her again. And if you even think about coming after her, or anyone in our family, just remember who stopped her from killing you. I did. That means your pathetic little life belongs to me.” She pushed the tip of the blade harder into his neck, drawing blood. “If I ever see you again, I will take that life and crush it.” She punctuated the sentence by pressing her hand into a fist. “Do you understand me?” He glared at her, his dark eyes like burning coals. She shook his head roughly. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he grudgingly ground out. 

“Good.” She got to her feet unsteadily, still slightly dazed from hitting her head on the table. “My car is downstairs. I’ll drive us all to the hospital, and after that we,” she pointed at herself and Andy, “will be going home. I don’t give a shit what you do, as long as you do it away from us.” Wiping down the knife, Polya went into the kitchen and shoved it in a drawer. When she came back into the living room, Andy was already pulling Pavlo to his feet. “I’m sure we’ll be able to figure out some story to sell the Police when they question us. Won’t we, Pavlo?” He grumbled as Andy shoved him towards the door.

Once they were all out of the apartment, Andy closed the door, knowing that a part of her had died in that apartment. She was ready to leave that corpse to rot.

Now

When Andy woke later that night, Booker was gone, and her entire body ached from passing out on the couch. Groaning, she stood up, wobbling around as the room spun around her. Fuck, she was still drunk. She needed to get into her bed. And pee. In that order? No, that wasn’t right. Bathroom first, then bed.

Making her way into the bathroom, she sat on the toilet, elbows resting on her knees and head in her hands. She sat there, long after she’d flushed the toilet, trying to figure out how to get her legs to cooperate and get her into her bed.

Giving up, she slithered off the bowl and crawled into her room. Thank God no one else was around to see her, this was not her finest moment. Managing to coordinate her limbs enough to get undressed, she climbed into her bed and smashed her face into a gloriously soft pillow.

Booker had brought up a lot of things she thought she’d buried, things she never wanted to see the light of day. Her sister, Appolonia. Polya. How long had it been since she’d seen her last? Nine years? Ten? She’d only been eighteen when she’d married that loser Pavlo, nineteen when she’d finally left him. Fuck, she was so young back then. She’d been determined to never be that weak ever again, to never let another person hold such power over her, so she left. Not long after leaving Pavlo, she ran away to Kyiv, to start a new life. Or, if she was being honest with herself, to run away. To leave behind everything that made her who she was then, to become a new person, the woman she was today. Strong. Successful. And utterly, completely, alone. At least, up until recently.

Because now, now she was tied to six other people and, though the very idea of being so deeply connected to even one other person scared the shit out of her, she was beginning to think it wasn’t all bad. That maybe, with these people, no one had power over any of the others. Maybe there was a relationship where no one person had more control than another, maybe they were all equals in this. Maybe each one of them could help the others, could use their own strengths to balance the other’s weaknesses. Maybe they were all alone, in their own ways.

When Andy finally fell asleep that night, it was Polya’s face she saw in her dreams.

**London, UK**

As James Copley stepped into the lobby of Merrick Pharmaceuticals, he once again asked himself if this was a good idea, if bringing this information to Merrick’s attention was really the best thing, but he didn’t know what else to do with it. He couldn’t just sit on it, not when there were so many possible applications, so many ways this information could change the face of humanity. Walking up to reception, Copley waited for the young man behind the desk to acknowledge his presence before speaking.

“James Copley, I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Mr. Merrick.” The receptionist immediately sat up straighter, tapping a few keys on the sleek laptop in front of him.

“Of course, Mr. Copley, Mr. Merrick is expecting you. If you could look into the camera for a moment, please?” Copley did as he was asked, looking into the small camera perched above the laptop. A visitor’s badge was quickly printed, his face and name clear on the front. As he pinned it to the pocket of his jacket, a large, muscular man appeared at his shoulder, hands behind his back and standing at parade rest. “You’re all set, Mr. Copley. Mr. Keane will escort you the rest of the way.” Nodding, Copley followed the bulky man to a private elevator, silently watching the floor numbers increase. 

Stopping on the fiftieth floor, Copley followed Keane into a large office, two of the four walls made up of floor to ceiling windows looking out over the busting streets of London. In the center of the room was a wide glass and steel desk, and seated at that desk was a peculiar looking man with an uneven jaw and cold blue eyes.

“Mr. Copley! Wonderful to meet you. Word is you’ve something interesting to show me.” Shaking hands, Copley smiled and took a seat, placing his briefcase carefully on the desk.

“I do. But before I show you, let me ask you a question: have you ever heard of something called a sensate?”

“Can’t say I have; and generally, if I haven’t heard of something, it’s not worth knowing about.” Smirking slightly at the absurd arrogance of the other man, Copley opened his briefcase and gently pulled out what looked like an EEG headset. Merrick eyed the contraption skeptically, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“Well, Mr. Merrick, let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you what I know about homo sensorium, and when I’m done you can tell me whether or not it’s something worth knowing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are flashbacks of Andy when she was younger, in an abusive marriage. There are graphic scenes of domestic abuse and at one point Andy almost murders her husband. 
> 
> When Andy meets Booker she can immediately feel his depression, and it is described in a fair amount of detail.
> 
> She and Booker get drunk in the middle of the day.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write so far and I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> This chapter is sponsored by "Waking Up Slow" by Gabrielle Aplin, which I listened to repeatedly while writing. It's such a great song and I think it sets the tone nicely!
> 
> I made some edits to a previous chapter, which I am addressing in the end notes. Please read them and let me know if there's anything you'd like to add!

**Nicky- Rome, Italy**

Nicky woke to strong arms surrounding him, holding him tight against a solid warmth behind him. He didn’t move, could barely breathe, for fear of waking the man behind him and losing the comfort he took just from Joe’s presence. Slowly, slowly, he relaxed back into the arms that held him, savoring the feel of them. God, how long had it been since someone, anyone, had touched him without the threat of violence? How long had it been since he’d felt any contact against his skin that didn’t end in pain? He couldn’t even remember. Joe held him so tightly, so securely, it twisted something deep inside him, making him ache with how good it felt.

He’d never had this before, never woken up curled together with someone. Any bedroom activities he’d participated in had always just been flings. Back in Genova he’d been so careful about who he hooked up with, so paranoid about getting caught, that he very rarely even bothered. When he’d arrived in Rome it was like the floodgates had opened; those first several months had been a blur of liquor and drugs and men, a new bed every night but he was never invited to stay and he wouldn’t have wanted to if he was. And while everything had been consensual from what he could remember of the time, and admittedly, there were a lot of blanks in his memory, there hadn’t been any genuine affection or care between him and any of the men he’d been with. And, like any addict, once the high was over he was left feeling bereft and empty, his problems waiting for the pleasure to recede before haunting his every step yet again.

Nothing, not any of the drugs he’d consumed or pleasures he’d experienced, had ever, could ever, feel as good as lying in Joe’s arms. He didn’t believe in much these days, but feeling Joe’s breath caressing his neck, Joe’s graceful fingers twitching against his arms as he dreamed, he thought he could believe in this. Believe that there were good people in the world, people who were kind and selfless and pure of heart. He could believe in Joe.

He felt the other man moving behind him, floating into consciousness little by little, unlike Nicky who slept lightly and crashed into wakefulness quickly and abruptly every morning. Behind him, Joe grumbled and nuzzled his nose into the back of Nicky’s neck, arms and legs tightening around him even more. He was like an octopus, and if Nicky could stay tangled in his limbs for the rest of time, it still wouldn’t be enough. Sliding a hand down Joe’s arm, he tangled their fingers together tightly. He didn’t want Joe to wake up and think he didn’t want the other man touching him, he wanted Joe to know without a doubt that Nicky wanted him there; in his life, in his bed, in his heart. He knew he would never be worthy of Joe, but he was selfish enough not to care. He would bask in Joe’s light for as long as the other man allowed.

Nicky felt the moment Joe fully regained consciousness, an extra awareness in his brain suddenly coming alive, glowing with a soft warmth. He squeezed Joe’s hand and felt an answering sigh behind him.

“Good morning,” Joe rumbled, rubbing his nose lightly against the back of Nicky’s neck again, “how did you sleep?”

“Very well,” he answered, surprising himself. “I can’t remember the last time I slept so well.” His voice was rough and scratchy, throat still sore from all the crying and screaming of the night before.

“Good, you needed it.” Nicky smiled to himself as the other man yawned heavily into his shoulder. “What time is it? It feels very early.”

Nicky glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. “It is. Dawn is still an hour away.”

Joe groaned. “Why are we even awake yet?”

“Because,” Nicky replied, an idea suddenly coming to mind, “there’s somewhere we have to be.” He pulled out of Joe’s embrace reluctantly, smiling softly at the other man’s look of disgruntled confusion. Still dressed in the clothes he’d worn the day before, he pulled on some socks and went searching for his boots. He turned to Joe, still lying in bed, looking adorably rumpled and half asleep. “Come, we don’t have much time.”

Groaning, Joe heaved himself out of bed, stumbling around a bit before getting his bearings. Grabbing his hand, Nicky rushed out of his apartment, locking the door behind him, and running up the stairs and out the front door of his building. 

The streets were dark and deserted, only sparsely placed streetlights illuminated the night around them and it felt to Nicky that they were the only two people on earth, like the world was theirs and they could go anywhere, do anything. A giddiness, light as air, filled his heart and Nicky felt young again, invincible and full of life. He pulled Joe behind him, running to make sure they caught the first bus towards the city

“Where are we going?” Joe huffed, bewildered but going along with Nicky’s craziness no questions asked, just as Nicky knew he would. Grinning, he looked back at the other man, who stared at him dazedly, probably still trying to wake up. 

“You’ll see. It’ll be worth it, I promise, as long as we get there on time.”

They made it to the bus stop, leaning against the side of a building to catch their beath. Nicky snuck a peek at Joe out of the corner of his eye, taking in the other man’s profile, the way the glow from the streetlamps shone like a halo around him, the light and shadows caressing his face and making him look like a Renaissance painting. God, he was beautiful. Sensing he was being watched, Joe looked at him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in question.

“What?” He asked, confused, and Nicky couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the thought that this incredible man didn’t even realize how he’d flipped his life upside-down in such a short period of time, how waking up wrapped in his arms had been the safest he’d ever felt in his life. How just being near him made him happier than he’d been in longer than he could remember. His only hope was that Joe got something out of knowing him, that he somehow provided the other man with something worthwhile, though what that could possibly be eluded him. Taking Joe’s face gently between his hands, he just looked at him for a moment, taking in how the other man looked right at that moment, dark eyes open and guileless and fixed on him with an intensity the likes of which he’d never been on the receiving end of. 

Committing those eyes to memory, wanting to keep this moment in his heart until the day he died, Nicky leaned in and pressed their lips together, keeping his eyes open to take in as much of the other man as he could. Joe responded beautifully, his eyes fluttering closed as he seemed to melt against him, hands gently resting on Nicky’s hips, as if holding him any tighter would hurt him somehow and God, never in his life had Nicky ever been treated so tenderly, and it was that which threatened to break him more than any violence ever could. 

Slowly, he pulled away, resting their foreheads together, unable to bear even a few inches of distance between them. His hands skimmed over Joe’s ears and into his hair, luxuriating in the feel of the slightly coarse, springy curls beneath his fingers.

“What’s your last name?” Joe asked breathily, his own hands tickling up and down Nicky’s sides.

“Genovese,” he answered, not caring why Joe asked, just knowing he would deny the other man nothing that was in his power to give. “My full name is Nicolò Genovese.”

“Nicolò Genovese,” Joe repeated to himself, “Nicolò, Nicolò.” He grinned, eyes lighting up in mirth. “I like saying it.”

“I like you saying it.” Nicky tried not to stare at Joe’s lips as he sounded out his name, tried not to imagine the movements of his tongue and how those same movements might feel against his skin, and failed hard. “And you?”

“Yusuf al-Kaysani.” 

“Yusuf al-Kaysani. I like the rhythm of it, it sounds like poetry.”

For a long moment, Joe just stared at him and Nicky wondered if he’d said something wrong. Had he pronounced his name wrong? It sounded correct to his ears, but had he made some kind of mistake? Opening his mouth to apologize, he felt soft lips pressing gently against his forehead, then moving down to the tip of his nose and lightly dusting both of his eyelids. He couldn’t name the emotion he saw shining in Joe’s eyes, but he could feel it, glimmering warmly in his heart.

Unexpectedly, Joe huffed out a little laugh, throwing his head back lightly against the building behind him. “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” his eyes practically sparkled with amusement, “you mean to tell me you’re Nicolò Genovese… from Genova? Isn’t that just a bit redundant?”

Rolling his eyes, Nicky couldn’t help but grin. “Shut up,” he chuckled, pulling Joe away from the wall he’d been leaning against as he heard the bus pulling up behind him. Grabbing his hand again, he pulled him onto the bus and into a seat in the back, as far away from the driver as they could possibly be.

“So where are we going, anyway?” Joe asked, looking out the window curiously.

“You’ll see,” Nicky smirked, squeezing Joe’s hand in his. Joe smiled at him and brought their joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of Nicky’s hand before looking back out the window. Nicky’s eyes stayed glued to Joe’s profile for the rest of the ride, unwilling to waste his sight on anything but the impossibly beautiful man sitting beside him.

***

He had to admit, he was incredibly curious about what Nicky wanted to show him at ass o’clock in the morning. In Joe’s opinion, there was nothing on earth that could possibly be worth getting out of bed before dawn, but the other man was so obviously excited to show him whatever it was he was going to show him, and how could Joe possibly resist that? Seeing Nicky’s smile was like seeing a shooting star speed through the sky; it was brilliant, and beautiful, and so fleeting and rare that seeing one was like magic. How could he do anything but follow him?

The bus ride was interesting, though it was still early enough and dark enough that there wasn’t much to see, but the sky was finally starting to lighten. When Nicky pulled them off the bus and Joe saw the hill they were going to be hiking up, he took a fortifying breath and followed. The sky could have opened up and released hailstones the size of his head and Joe still would have followed him.

“We’re almost there,” Nicky said, practically running to get to the top of the hill. The sky had gone from a deep navy to a bright indigo, with the barest hint of soft gold bleeding into the edges. Tugging oh his hand, Nicky rushed through a cobblestone square and came to a stop at a short stone wall, standing shoulder to shoulder with him as Joe looked his fill at the sight before him.

All of Rome was spread out beneath him, the lights from the windows of households just starting their day twinkling like fireflies against the endless cerulean sky. Some of the buildings before him were already lit up and they shone brightly, drawing the eye like a beacon. He could see mountains in the distance, only visible by the sliver of gold outlining their curves and peaks. It was beautiful and breathtaking and nothing Joe had ever expected to see.

“Come,” Nicky smiled, throwing one long leg over the wall and straddling it before gracefully bringing the other one around, sitting comfortably. Joe followed, much less gracefully in his opinion, sitting as close as possible to the other man, who was already watching him avidly, a soft expression on his face. “Do you like it?” Nicky asked, voice quiet and vulnerable.

“Do I- Nicolò,” Joe began, taking the other man’s hand and holding it up to his chest. “You can feel what I feel. So feel it.” 

He stared deep into the other man’s seafoam bright eyes, pushing away any walls in his mind that could possibly keep Nicky from seeing and feeling every part of him. It was terrifying and exhilarating, this feeling, as if he were cracking open his ribcage and handing Nicky his very soft, very vulnerable heart, hoping the other man would carry it safe and shielded within himself.

As he gazed into those beautiful eyes, more beautiful than even the sunrise before him could ever be, Nicky smiled, a soft, small thing that made him practically glow from within. “I can feel you,” he whispered, voice hoarse in his throat. “Can you feel me?”

He could, of course he could, every moment he was in Nicky’s presence was spent reaching for him, for the connection they shared. He could feel his vivid happiness floating above a stormy sea of rage and misery, and deeper, underneath all that, a delicate fluttering thing, feathery wisps of golden light so vulnerable and frail that Joe feared it would disintegrate at the slightest touch. 

“Yes,” he nodded, desperately holding back the tears that wanted to escape. “I feel you, I always feel you.”

“I love you.” Nicky said simply, eyes open and clear, and Joe felt his tears win the battle, falling steadily down his cheeks. Not since his parents were alive had anyone ever said those words to him and meant them, not the way Nicky meant them. His love was fragile, newly-hatched and wary, but crying out to be nurtured. 

“I know,” Joe replied, leaning close and pressing their lips together in a gentle, lingering kiss; every beat of his heart, every touch of his hands singing out his love for Nicky, and he knew it was heard.

The light of the rising sun caressed their skin, illuminating them in it’s soft glow, completely overshadowed by the golden light blossoming within them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I did a read-through of this whole story so far and as I was going through Ch. 3, I was kinda horrified at myself for the way I wrote Joe in that chapter. In the scene where he finds out that Nagib is nephew to the Chief of Police, I wrote him as flying into a rage and standing up with his fists clenched. I also wrote that he has a temper, which I stand by for multiple reasons, BUT I realize now that I should have gone into more detail about exactly what he was feeling and why, and that's on me as a writer. 
> 
> In my opinion, yes, Joe has a temper, but it's because he's so passionate that he feels **everything** strongly, not just anger. I don't want to be one of those people that writes him as Angry Brown Man TM because that is **not at all** how I see him. Does he anger easily? Yes. But that anger burns out quickly and I think he is also quick to forgive. Joe feels so much (which I think I've done a decent job at portraying, if I haven't please let me know!) but he is also so soft and vulnerable, and so strong because of it. He is not an angry person whatsoever. 
> 
> I really wanted to address this because reading my own portrayal of Joe in that scene made me super uncomfortable and did not mesh at all with how I see him as a person. I think I rushed through the editing of those first few chapters, which is my fault, but I fixed it and am much happier with it! If there is anything I've written that makes you feel uncomfortable, please let me know! I am always more than willing to listen to different perspectives and learn new things!


End file.
